


The Fire and the Flood

by the_savage_daughter_0627



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Break Up, Cheating, Death, Depression, Eventual Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Katara (Avatar)-centric, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, One-sided Aang/Katara (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, POV Katara (Avatar), POV Zuko (Avatar), Parental Hakoda (Avatar), Protective Iroh (Avatar), Protective Zuko (Avatar), Romance, Slow Burn Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Stubborn Katara (Avatar), Ursa (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_savage_daughter_0627/pseuds/the_savage_daughter_0627
Summary: Katara has lived in the same town with the same people her whole life, and since the death of her mother, she feels like her life has been on hold. But then she meets Zuko, an intriguing stranger, and everything changes.
Relationships: Aang/Toph Beifong, Jet/Katara (Avatar), Kanna/Pakku (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Comments: 134
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is pretty different compared to just about everything else I've written (with the possible exception of "The Ghost of You"). This story deals a lot directly with the deaths of Zuko's and Katara's mothers, including their respective grief and feelings about it. So it deals quite a bit with grief, depression, and stuff like that. I'm going to try to include trigger warnings on the worst parts, but as Kya's death is mentioned rather frequently, I might not be able to put a content warning on every single time it's mentioned. So just keep that in mind.
> 
> Also, there's some implied rape in this story. I don't want to say too much and give anything away, but I'll definitely include content warnings for those chapters.
> 
> It's low-key inspired by Taylor Swift's song, "Everything Has Changed" and Vance Joy's song, "The Fire and the Flood" (which is where the name comes from.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara just wants to see the whales. She doesn't expect to run into an intriguing stranger.

_'Cause all I know is we said "hello",_

_And your eyes look like comin' home._

_All I know is a simple name..._

_And everything has changed._

**_\- "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran_ **

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I wake to a sky that is clear blue and free of clouds, the sort of day that promises to be chilly and beautiful with the smell of spring in the air, and I allow myself a smile.

March is my favorite month right after October. I’ve tried to put into words why I love it so much, but Charles Dickens described it more eloquently than I ever could: “it was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade”. March is an equinox between winter and summer. The world is still drowsy and rubbing the tiredness of winter from its eyes. It is a tipping point, like standing on a ledge, halfway to safety and halfway to a free fall. 

I get out of bed, the well-worn floorboards cool and creaking under my feet, and I shuffle out of my room and down the equally-creaky stairs to the bathroom. I can hear Dad in the kitchen, can hear the _pop-pop_ of bacon grease in a frying pan. The smell of coffee permeates the house.

Well, it’s not actually a house. It’s an old church that Mom and Dad bought for a ridiculously cheap price to turn the sanctuary into Mom’s art studio and the basement into a small, but comfortable, apartment for Sokka and I when we were older. That was before Mom died, before life fell apart and plans changed.

The sanctuary is empty now. 

I step into the small kitchen and head for the coffee pot. Dad is at the stove making scrambled eggs and bacon. He smiles up at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that feels like home. 

“Good morning, snow pea.”

I smile back. “Morning.”

I grab a mug from the cupboard and fill my cup. He’s left the hazelnut creamer on the counter for me, and I add a splash to my coffee and stir it before I take a sip and let out a contented sigh. I’ve never been a morning person, and coffee is a requirement for me to be a functioning human being.

“What are your plans for the day?” Dad asks me as he shuffles the dripping bacon from the frying pan to a paper towel-lined plate. 

“I’m going to go down to the beach,” I say as I move to sit at the small kitchen table. “Hopefully I can see the whales. They’ll be migrating soon.”

“Is that all?” He shuts off the burner and moves the pan with the eggs to a cool burner. 

“I guess so.” I shrug. “Am I supposed to have any other plans?”

“No, I guess not.” Dad dishes up two plates and sets them down on the table before he joins me. “Me and the guys are going to go fishing later. We probably won’t be back for dinner. Will you be okay?”

I smile reassuringly at him. I know by “fishing” he really means he’s going out on the boat with Bato and Pakku and drinking beer while the radio plays country music, talking about things that old men talk about. Not that Dad is really that old or anything.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ll order takeout or something.”

“Maybe you can call up Toph and have a girls’ night or something.” He says this around a mouthful of eggs. 

“Dad, no one _calls up_ anyone anymore. We just text.” I don’t tell him that currently, Toph and I aren’t talking. Instead, I smirk at him. “Well, except for you. When am I finally going to convince you to get a cell phone?” 

We’re one of the only families I know who still has a landline. At least it’s wireless. Sokka and I convinced him to upgrade a few years ago.

“I don’t need one. And I definitely don’t need one of those fancy _smartphones_.” Amusement dances in his eyes, but then he grows more serious. “I just think you’re spending a little too much time alone, kiddo.”

My fork stops halfway to my mouth. I recover quickly and take the bite, although the scrambled eggs suddenly taste like ash on my tongue. I look up at him. 

“I _like_ being alone,” I say quietly. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

Dad watches me for a moment. His mouth opens, and then he closes it again. I can hear the words he wants to say but doesn’t: _you never used to_.

“Alright,” Dad says instead. It’s an almost-lie, a half-truth, a veiled response. It’s his way of being honest without actually saying it.

He smiles at me, but this time the crinkles don’t make an appearance. 

* * *

  
  


An hour later I’m walking down the familiar cobbled sidewalks through the heart of town with my hands tucked into the pockets of my windbreaker. The streets are quiet because it’s the off-season, and I recognize almost everyone I see, if only by face and not by name. Most of them wave to me in greeting.

I’m Hakoda’s daughter. I’m Kya’s daughter. I’ve been known here since the day I was born. 

I press on, heading for the sea. I can see the sunshine shimmering on the water. I can smell the sea salt spray, a scent that smells like my childhood, of long days spent building sandcastles and throwing jellyfish back into the sea. I can’t imagine living some place where the ocean isn’t a stone’s throw away. 

The town is still mostly asleep, and I bask in the quiet. The shops are familiar. I’ve been into most of them at least once or twice. It’s barely eight o’clock and most of them aren’t open yet. During the summer season, they will be open at this hour, and they’ll be packed with tourists browsing the wares, looking for souvenirs from this tiny coastal town. 

But then I pass by a building that is both familiar and strange. It used to be a secondhand store, but the owner retired last fall and put the building up for sale. The sign had been in the plate glass window for months. I hadn’t seen it disappear.

The difference now is that the sign has disappeared, and the building has been sold. The canopy has been replaced and the words _The Jasmine Dragon_ is emblazoned in gold on the green canvas. The door is propped open with a brick, and there’s a moving truck out front. Burly men in matching dark blue t-shirts are unloading tables, chairs, and things I recognize but don’t have a name for into the building.

I pause to watch them for a moment, feeling the light breeze lift the small wisps of hair that have escaped my braid, and then I peer in through the large window. It’s a little dusty, but the lights are on inside, and I can see the movers shuffling things around. A portly older man with a gray beard is pointing around the open space. His voice carries through the door: “...just set those over there by the wall. Yes, that’s fine. We’ve still got some cleaning to do…”

I wonder what this place will be, if it will be a store or restaurant that I’ll enjoy visiting from time to time.

I step off the sidewalk and into the street to stay out of the way of the movers, checking to make sure the road is clear. I pass along the side of the truck and step back onto the sidewalk in time to collide with someone who’s coming down the flight of stairs that lead up to the apartment above the building. Most of the old buildings in this town are built that way.

I don’t know who’s at fault, me or the stranger I’ve run into. I didn’t see him, and he didn’t see me, so maybe we’re both at fault. Maybe it’s neither.

“Oh spirits, sorry. I didn’t see you there—” A hand on my elbow steadies me, and I look up into a faded pink and red smear.

I blink. It’s a scar. I force myself to look away from it, into the rest of the face it occupies. It’s a handsome face, my brain registers quickly. And then I realize I’m still standing in his personal space, close enough to notice that he smells like bamboo and teak wood and that his short-cropped hair is damp from a shower. His hand is still on my arm. A blush rises in my cheeks. I step back and he lets me go.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t see you either.”

The boy offers me an apologetic smile—no, he’s not a boy. He’s a young man, probably around my brother’s age. 

“Me either.” His cheeks redden as he realizes he already said that. “Are you okay?” His voice is husky, like leaves crunching underfoot in October. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I offer him a smile. My eyes drift over the scar again, before they land on his honey-colored eyes. I look down the road to the ocean. If I don’t get down to the jetty soon, I’ll miss the whales. “I should go. Um, I’ll see you around?”

He takes a step back, toward the open door. “Uh, yeah. See you.” 

He spins on his heel and checks his shoulder against the door. He recovers gracefully, but I wince for him.

Then I turn back toward the sea and resume my walk to the beach.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

My cheeks are burning and my shoulder is smarting when I step back into the shop. Uncle looks up at me and beams a smile. I haven’t seen him this happy in years.

I wish I felt the same.

“You slept in, nephew,” Uncle says. He gestures to the thermos of tea he brought down from the loft. “Tea? It’s Earl Grey.”

I scrub my hand down my still-warm face. “No thanks. I think I need coffee.” 

“Blech.” Uncle pulls a face. “How can you _drink_ that sewer sludge?”

I ignore the jibe. “Do you need me here?”

Uncle waves me away. “Go on, get your coffee. But when you get back, I’m putting you to work.”

I step back onto the sidewalk and glance in the direction the girl had gone. Only the term _girl_ is inadequate. She looked like she was about my sister’s age, so she’s a young woman. She was heading toward the beach.

I see the ocean glimmering beyond the rise of the buildings. It reminds me of the young woman’s eyes, and I shake my head to push her out of my thoughts. 

_Great,_ I think as I start in the direction of the drive-up coffee stall I saw the other day when Uncle and I drove into town. _The first person you meet in this town and you just about run her over._

The walk helps me shake off the last dregs of sleep. I normally wake up no later than 6 am. I always have, even as a child. And I’m usually snoring by 10 pm. But I had a hard time sleeping last night, tossing and turning on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room with anxiety pooling icy-hot in my belly. 

A new house, a new town. “A fresh start,” as Uncle calls it, but it feels like anything but. It feels like running away.

I reach the coffee stall. The barista, an over enthusiastic girl with a peppy smile and a thick ponytail trailing down one shoulder, takes my order: tall Americano. 

When I walk back to what is soon going to be the Jasmine Dragon tea shop, I pay a little more attention to my surroundings to get a better feel for this place that I now call home. 

If I have to pick a word to describe this town, it’s quaint. Most of the buildings are old, either made of brick or clapboard. The coats of paint are bright and cheery, and the signs displaying the names are eye-grabbing. The sidewalks are clean, and everything is coated in a layer of sea salt. I can feel it on my skin. 

I’m no stranger to the ocean. I grew up on Puget Sound, after all. But the open sea is a little different than a bay. 

By the time I get back to the tea shop, the movers are hauling in the last of the supplies Uncle bought with his severance pay. Then it’s just the two of us, and Uncle makes good on his promise to put me to work.

We spend all morning sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing. Then we start to unpack the kitchen. Uncle had paid for some remodeling to better equip the building for its new intended purpose. The secondhand store had a small kitchen, probably leftover from some business that had been here before that, but everything had needed a serious upgrade. Uncle spared no expense, and the appliances are all shiny stainless steel. 

Uncle talks while we—and by ‘we’ I mean _I—_ work. “I hope to have the place opened by the first week of April. The vendors should deliver our merchandise by the end of the month, and that should be plenty of time to get everything set up here.”

“Sounds good to me,” I grunt as I slide a booth along the wall where Uncle indicates he wants it. 

“I think we ought to start putting our name out there. Social media marketing is a pretty big deal. Maybe we can make a page on...what do you call it? BookSpace?”

“Facebook.”

“Yes, that.” Uncle sits down on the booth with a huff, as though he’s the one moving all this furniture around. “Do you know how to do that?”

I grab the edge of a round table and maneuver it across the floor. “I can probably figure it out.” 

“Yes, we can run a business page. That should garner some attention before the tourist season hits. There’s no tea shops in this town. Just that little coffee stall you got that atrocity—” Uncle nods toward my cold cup of coffee. “—from, so we shouldn’t have a problem with competition.”

“We’re no Starbucks.”

“We’re not trying to _be_ Starbucks, Zuko. We’re a mom-and-pop shop. Or perhaps, an uncle-and-nephew shop.” His eyes are twinkling. “Besides, people come to these little towns not to drink Starbucks or eat at McDonald’s. They come for the small-town culture.”

“If you say so.” I straighten up and my spine cracks. I’m going to be sore tomorrow. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” Uncle says sincerely. He smiles warmly. “Why don’t you go find us some lunch?”

“Is that your idea of giving me a break?”

Uncle chuckles. “I think I saw a sandwich shop a few streets over. I think I’ll take a turkey and Swiss on rye.”

“Yes, Uncle.” I throw a mock salute and leave through the back door. 

My car, a fifteen year old Toyota Camry, is parked in the narrow alley behind the tea shop. The alley is lined with the backs of more buildings, but I don’t know what they are. I haven’t been on that side of the street yet. All I know is that the single narrow window in my bedroom looks out onto the weather-worn clapboards of one of these buildings.

I unlock my car and sit down. The car isn’t that bad, but I miss my old one. It’s one of the only things I miss about my old life.

I start the engine and nose my way out of the mouth of the alley. There’s no traffic, and I pull onto the road. Raindrops pelt the windshield and I flick on the wipers as I peer up at the sky. The clear blue is gone. Gray clouds rolled in without me noticing, fat and swollen with rain. 

When I pull up to a caution light I realize I don’t know where the sandwich shop is. I know where we saw it when we came into town, but its location isn’t as memorable as the coffee stall. I swear under my breath as I pull my phone out of my back pocket, eyes searching the road for a police car.

If I was in my old car, my phone would already be connected to Bluetooth and I could tell Siri to look it up for me. But I’m not, so I can’t.

I drive through the light while I open my search engine. The rain is coming down harder now, working itself up into a full-on deluge. I turn up the windshield wipers and use the talk-to-text function to search for the sandwich shop.

Then I’m on my way. In a few minutes I’m pulling up in front of a store front that doesn’t look all that different from the Jasmine Dragon: all plate glass windows and red brick. I quickly duck inside. The downpour has started, and my hair and the shoulders of my shirt are damp by the time I’m stepping inside. 

The line is short, and I’m in and out in less than twenty minutes. The sidewalk has become a small lake, and there’s a river running between the curb and the tires of my car. I hurry into the driver’s seat and drop the sandwiches onto the passenger side. Then I’m driving back to the tea shop. 

When I pull up to the caution light again, I see a figure jogging along the sidewalk into town. I peer through the rain-soaked passenger window at them, frowning at the poor soul caught out in this weather. I recognize the blue windbreaker, and then I realize it’s the young woman from that morning.

I can tell that she’s soaking wet, and her jacket doesn’t have a hood. She’s watching her feet. 

Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself rolling down the window and calling out to her. “Hey, can I give you a ride?”

She looks up at the sound of my voice. Her ocean eyes find me. I see the recognition flash over her face, and suddenly I think this might be weird. The new stranger in town offering a pretty young woman a ride after he practically knocked her down that morning? It’s like the plot of one of those cheesy romance novels my mom used to read. 

But then her lips turn up in a shy smile, and she cuts across the sidewalk to my car.

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

The rain comes on suddenly, as it often does in spring on the coast of Oregon. What has started as a beautiful day quickly becomes a tempest, but I’m too enraptured in the tide pools that teem with sea life to notice until the first few fat drops pelt my head. 

I look up and see that clouds have rolled in, and I frown up at them, as though my disapproval can make them vanish as quickly as they have come. It’s barely lunch time, and a rainstorm puts a serious damper on my plans.

At least I got to see the whales.

After my literal run-in with the scarred stranger, I had made it down to the beach and onto the jetty. I had walked out to the end, where the waves crashed into the rocks and blew cold spray into my face. I watched the sea until I saw the familiar shapes cutting through the water and saw the spray bursting from their spouts, and a sense of joy permeated my bones.

Whales are majestic creatures. They’re families, with hierarchies. They protect each other. They’re intelligent too. 

When they moved on, I did too. I picked my way along the same stretch of sand I’ve walked on since I was small and made my way toward the tide pools. They’ve always been my favorite. They’re like small oceans, incredible and full of life.

Then the rain came, and I start to hurry back home. My windbreaker doesn’t have a hood and soon my hair is drenched. My worn-out Keds are too.

It’s a twenty minute walk home from the beach and I can shave a few minutes off of it by jogging, so that’s what I do. It’s pointless, since I’m already soaked, but it makes me _feel_ like it makes a difference.

A voice cuts through the rain. “Hey, can I give you a ride?”

I look up, expecting to see a familiar face. Surely anyone who knows me would offer me a ride. But to my surprise, it’s not _really_ a familiar face. It’s the scarred stranger.

_I should really stop calling him that,_ I think to myself. But I hadn’t caught his name that morning.

I quickly take in the car, and the timid half-smile on his lips. He’s leaning across the center console with the passenger window rolled down halfway, and his eyes are earnest. 

If my dad saw me, he would surely lecture me about getting into a car with a stranger, but the rain is saturating my jacket and my jeans and I’m starting to get cold, and the stranger seemed nice enough when we ran into each other that morning. And I’m only halfway home.

I smile at him and cross over the sidewalk. I hear the click of the lock and he grabs a bag off the seat—I recognize the label from Shyu’s Sandwich Shop—and he drops it into the backseat. I reach for the door handle but he beats me to it and pops it open from the inside before he withdraws to his side of the car.

I slide onto the seat and feel a little bad that I’m going to get the upholstery wet, but the heater is on and it’s warm. It smells like bread in the car and it’s definitely better than walking.

“Thank you,” I tell him a bit breathlessly. 

“It’s a little wet out there,” he says, and a blush rises in his cheeks.

I chuckle a bit. “Yeah, it is.”

We sit there at the caution light for a minute just looking at each other. Then the blush in his cheeks deepen, and I feel one rise in my own face, and I gesture to the road.

“Um, my house is this way,” I say. “It’s not far, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. Mind, that is.” He clears his throat and presses on the gas. 

An awkward silence fills the car. I fidget in the seat, suddenly uncomfortable in my wet jeans. The radio isn’t on, and I wish it was so it could fill the void.

I glance down at my soaked jeans. “Sorry. I’m getting your seat wet.”

He glances over at me as he pulls up to a stop sign. “It’s fine. It’ll dry.”

“It’s a left on Pearl Street.” I indicate which road I’m talking about.

He flicks the turn signal on, and its soft tick-tocking is the only sound. His hands hold the wheel in a death grip, and his back is ram-rod straight in his seat. He’s a little awkward, this stranger, but I find it endearing. I’m sure he just doesn’t want me to think he’s some kind of creep.

I wonder who this stranger is, where he comes from, what his story is. I hope I get the chance to find out.

He turns onto Pearl Street. My house is at the end of the road, backed up against the treeline. It’s set off on its own, a short distance away from the other homes and businesses that line this quiet street.

“It’s right there.” 

I point to the church, with its fading pale-yellow paint and green trim. Dad’s truck isn’t there, so he’s either still on the boat (a little rain wouldn’t stop his fishing trip) or he and his friends have made it back into town and to the pub. 

I see his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s an old church,” I explain, a little rushed. “My parents bought it after they graduated from high school.”

“That’s...cool.” It seems like he doesn’t know what to say. I don’t either.

He pulls into the gravel lot in front of my house and puts the car in park. The rain is still coming down steadily, and I didn’t tell him to park on the other side by the “front” door—the door that leads into the living space, not the sanctuary. I have a key for the heavy oaken sanctuary doors, but we never use them. 

I turn towards him, and he meets my gaze. His eyes are pretty, like golden suns, or pools of honey. Even the left one, which is scrunched and pinched against the pink scar tissue, giving him a permanent squint. There’s no eyelashes, no eyebrow. I wonder if he can see out of it. There’s no cloudy film and the pupil seems to dilate and follow the other one, so I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say.

I can see his scar more clearly now. It starts near the corner of his eye and follows the line of his cheek and brow bone, disappearing into his mussed raven-colored hair. It’s mottled pink and dusty red, smooth and shiny in some places and puckered and ridged in others. I wonder what it would feel like under my fingertips. 

It looks like a burn. I wonder why it looks so...damaged. Even if it happened when he was a child, modern medicine and skin grafts should have been able to heal it better than this. 

“Thank you,” I say. I offer him a grateful smile. “It was nice of you to give me a ride. I hope I didn’t put you out of your way.”

He smiles back at me, that same timid smile. It makes his eyes seem brighter somehow. “It’s no problem. Really.”

“Still. Thanks again.” 

This is the part where I open the door and go inside, but I find myself reluctant to do so. I live in a town where I know all of the year-round residents, and where the summer people, while interesting, never stay long enough to figure out. But I feel myself drawn to this young man, like a moth to a flame. 

I find a way to hold onto him for just a little longer. “I’m Katara, by the way.”

“Zuko.” I like his name. It’s crisp and succinct, but melodic too. I want to taste it on my tongue. 

His eyes flicker between me, my house, and something behind me, out the window, before they fall on my face again. I think he wants to say something more, but he isn’t sure what. 

I fill the void for him. “Did you just move here?”

“Yeah, I did. Well, me and my uncle. We uh, bought that place. You know? Where I ran into you this morning—” He inhales softly, and the timid smile and the blush are back, and he looks as sweet as honey, too. “We’re opening a tea shop.”

“A tea shop?” I repeat curiously. “Like, one of those hipster bubble tea places in Portland?” I’ve been to some, when I’ve gone to visit my brother in college. 

“Not exactly. I mean, we’ll probably offer stuff like that. To, you know, appease the hipsters—” I chuckle. “—but it’ll probably be more like a...I don’t know. It’s my uncle’s thing. Not mine. I’m just here to...help.”

His mouth presses into a thin line to stop his nervous rambling, but I wish he would keep talking. His voice is soft and raspy, like wind through the bare tree branches of December, and I want to hear it on repeat like a favorite song. 

I don’t know what’s gotten into me.

“That’s cool,” I say. It’s inadequate, but I can’t think of anything better. Something about him has my brain short-circuiting. “When do you guys plan on opening?”

“April, I think.”

I flash him a smile. “I’ll be sure to be there. I mean, it’ll probably be the most interesting thing that happens here until the tourist season.”

He snorts out a laugh. One hand reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, where a pink flush is creeping up the alabaster skin. I wonder if he’s trying to be polite, and he really wants me to get out of his car already. Or maybe he’s just shy. 

“I should go inside and get changed.” I glance down at my wet clothes. When I look back up at him, his eyes are on me. I reach for the door handle and my fingers grip the cool plastic. I rub my thumb over the rough texture. “It was nice to see you again, Zuko.” 

I like the way his name feels on my tongue. 

He blinks at me when I say his name and I wonder if he feels the same. His lips curl up in a soft smile. “You too...Katara.”

Electricity crackles across my skin. I open the door before I find some way to anchor him here, and I step out into the rain. I slog my way across the muddy gravel and throw a look over my shoulder at him. He’s watching me, and when our eyes meet he gives me that smile again before he shifts the car into reverse. I listen to the tires crunch on the gravel as he backs out, and then I unlock the door and step inside. 

Our housecat, a lanky Siamese named Momo, greets me at the door. He rubs against my legs before he shies away when he realizes that I’m wet, and he meows at me indignantly.

“Sorry Momo,” I apologize. I kick off my shoes and leave them in a pile by the door. Even though I know Dad isn’t home, I still call out to make sure. “Hello? Anyone here?” 

When silence answers me, I strip out of my clothes and carry the dripping mess to the bathroom. 

I realize suddenly how cold I am. Gooseflesh has cropped up on my skin, so tight it’s almost painful. I turn on the shower and let steam curl through the air as I let my hair down.

The water is warm and soothing and I let my eyes fall close. This is not how I expected my day to go, but I’m not sure that it’s such a bad thing. This is a change, and I’m willing to welcome it.

I hope I see Zuko again soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko find themselves thinking of the strangers they've met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: there's some sad stuff about Kya. Nothing too heavy.

_All I knew this morning when I woke is I know something now_

_That I didn't before._

_And all I've seen since eighteen hours ago_

_Is green eyes and freckles and your smile_

_In the back of my mind making me feel like_

_I just wanna know you better now._

**_\- "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran_ **

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

When I get back to the shop, Uncle is napping on the booth where I left him. I set the bag of sandwiches down on the table and watch him for a moment before I shake my head and move to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea.

My thoughts drift back to the young woman. Katara. Her name sounds like a lullaby, her skin the soft glow of a nightlight. I can’t quite explain it, but she feels safe. Like a parachute on a skydiver’s back. It’s strange since I’ve only spoken to her the one time, but there is something about her that feels secure.

She’s pretty too. Her skin is the color of caramel and her hair is chocolate. But her smile is what is truly beautiful. Like it’s a light, and I’m a moth, drawn to it. 

I was a stuttering, rambling mess throughout our whole conversation, and I cringe now in embarrassment. But I couldn’t help it. She just had that kind of effect on me. I felt like I was drunk, tripping over my words. But she seemed a little nervous too, and that makes me feel a little better. And if I’m being honest, a little hopeful too.

When the tea is done, I carry two cups back into the main room. Uncle’s head has fallen onto the back of the booth and his mouth is agape. He’s snoring gently, and I feel a swell of love rise up inside of me. He didn’t have to do this for me, and really, I ought to be more grateful. 

“Uncle,” I say gently as I set the cups down. “Uncle, I brought your lunch.”

He wakes with a snort, jolting upright. His sharp eyes fall on the tea and the food, and he sits up with a smile. 

“Mm, looks delicious, nephew.” He picks up the tea with a curious frown. “Don’t tell me that sandwich shop makes tea. That could be bad for our business.”

I give an amused half-smile. “No. I did.”

“Oh.” Uncle surveys the cup, and my amusement quickly sours as I narrow my eyes at him. 

“You expect me to work in your tea shop, but you don’t like my tea?” My tone is only a little accusatory.

“I never said _you_ would be making the tea.” He chuckles as he unwraps his sandwich. His eyes fall on the clock on the wall. “You’ve been gone for almost forty-five minutes. Did you go to Nehalem for these?” He chuckles again.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t even know where that _is._ ” I open my own sandwich. “I...took someone home. She was caught out in the rain.” I gesture outside, where the downpour has relented to a drizzle.

Uncle seems to have just noticed it. “Oh.” He looks back up at me. “She, hm? Is _she_ around your age?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

I take a bite out of my sandwich. I wish I hadn’t said anything at all. Uncle is always encouraging me to talk to girls. I don’t know if it’s his way of trying to show a fatherly inclination or if he thinks I need help in that department, but most of the time I wish he would let up. I have a _girlfriend_ , for crying out loud. Sort of. 

Maybe Uncle is encouraging this just because he just doesn’t like Mai.

No, I know he doesn’t like her.

Uncle is not easily dissuaded. He surveys his sandwich, lifting one corner of the bread to inspect the meat and toppings. “What’s her name?”

I narrow my eyes at him over my sandwich. “What makes you think I got her name?”

“Hopeful thinking.” Uncle shrugs and reaches for the tea. I can see him startle when he takes a drink, and I wonder if my tea is really that bad. I glance down at my own cup with a frown. Uncle clears his throat. “But since you didn’t say no, I’m assuming you did.”

“I did. It’s Katara.”

“What a lovely name.” Uncle’s eye has a sparkle to it, one I recognize all too well. The old man is scheming. “Do you think you’ll see her again?”

My irritation is mounting. I don’t want to talk about girls with my uncle, and I really don’t want to talk about _her_ , not when I can still smell her rain-soaked hair and can see the ocean depths of her eyes. I just want to eat my lunch and get back work. 

I don’t know why I’m so eager though. It’s not like I’ll have anything to do when it’s done. 

“Considering there’s like, two people in this whole town, probably,” I snap. 

Uncle sighs and takes a bite of his food. Guilt washes over me. _He’s just trying to help_ , I remind myself. _You don’t have to be so hard on him._

I exhale. “I think I’d like to,” I murmur. It’s almost an acquiescence.

He takes it. Uncle smiles warmly at me. “Then I’m sure you will.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I can feel a headache starting to pulse behind my eye, but we’re not done working. There’s more to set up and arrange down here (and rearrange, if I know my uncle as well as I think I do) and we still have to unpack the loft. I suppose there’s really no hurry, since it’s not like I have college or a job to worry about now, but I’m feeling restless. 

I’m still thinking about Katara. 

“Have you heard from Mai?” Uncle poses the question nonchalantly, but it’s anything but casual. 

“No.” I take a drink of my tea and try not to pull a sour face. It’s bitter. _Maybe Uncle is right about my tea,_ I think to myself. I huff out a breath. “I texted her last night, but…”

I let the words hang in the air between us. Uncle nods as he chews his sandwich thoughtfully. Something hot boils in my belly. I can’t tell if it’s anger or shame, or maybe both. But it sours my appetite and I push aside my half-eaten food as my head pulses a little harder. 

“Maybe it is time to let her go, nephew.” Uncle speaks slowly, carefully, and another wave of guilt washes over me. I know he’s trying to tiptoe around my temper, and it makes me feel even worse. He watches me over the rim of the tea cup he’s holding but not drinking from. “You know what they say about closed doors and open windows.”

I shut my eyes and resist the urge to scrub my hand down my face. I can hear the wisdom in his words, like a preacher with a sermon from my childhood. I know he’s not wrong, but it’s not easy to hear. I have a hard time letting go. When I find something safe, I cling to it like a lifeline, and it’s nearly impossible for me to let go and see where the waves will take me. 

Mai is safe. At least, she’s been safe enough. She’s been one constant in my life, one thing I could count on to be around. No matter how many times we’ve broken up, she’s always been there to catch me if I fall. She has been there with me through all of my worst moments, with her rasping voice telling me to get over it and her pale fingers to work away my stress. She was Azula’s friend first, but she’s been my safety net. If I let go of her, will I keep my head above water or will I drown in the undertow?

And she’s mad at me. Furious, really. Because I didn’t stay, because I didn’t fight. 

I’m tired of fighting.

“This is a fresh start here, Zuko.” Uncle’s tone is soft, gentle. It reminds me of my mother. “Don’t let the opportunities pass you by.”

“Okay,” I tell him, because I’m not sure what else I should say. I just know that I should say something. I stand up. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

He smiles wanly up at me in a way I’m all too familiar with. He doesn’t quite believe me, and I can’t say I blame him. I have a history of telling him I’ll listen to him, and then I don’t. Because I’m an impulsive mess who thinks I’ll do one thing and then I end up doing something else, and that’s how we ended up here in the first place. 

But maybe this time...I’ll listen.

* * *

**_Katara_ **

* * *

By the time I’m done in the shower, the rain has turned into a light drizzle. Wrapped in my bathrobe with my hair twisted into a towel, I go upstairs to my room. I pass by my brother’s door and feel a pinch in my heart. I miss him.

I stop with my hand on the doorknob, that ache settled deep in my chest. We just saw him over winter break, but it feels like it’s been longer. I never knew how hard it would be for me when he left for college. But then again, he was never planning on going to college three hours away either. He has a scholarship to thank for that. I’m proud of him.

I open the door. The squeak is a sound I’ve heard all of my life, like a nursery rhyme my mother used to sing. I step inside.

Sokka hasn’t lived in this room in a year, except for when he comes home for breaks. It hasn’t changed much since he left. The single bed is still pushed into one corner. It’s unmade now, just a bare mattress, but I can still picture the blue and green plaid quilt that used to cover it, sewed by our gran-gran. But his posters of athletes and rockstars still adorn the walls, and his baseball trophies line the shelves Dad hung up when Sokka won his first trophy in the Little Leagues. 

I can remember that day so clearly: Dad had smashed his thumb with the hammer and had yelled expletives until Mom had come to see what was going on. Then she had finished hanging the shelves while Dad bemoaned his “broken” thumb and I played Doctor Katara to my most dramatic patient, back when I had dreams of actually becoming a doctor. Afterwards, the four of us sat on the back porch while Mom and Dad drank beer and Sokka and I had root beer.

I smile at the memory as I step inside. It still smells like Sokka, just a little bit, beneath the scent of disuse. The floorboards creak under my feet as I cross to the window. It looks out over the whole town, clear to the beach, an identical view to the one in my room. 

The view is obscured now by the sheets of rain, but I can see the gilded roof of City Hall, the church steeple, the high school I graduated from nearly a year ago, the same school my brother and parents graduated from. 

Somewhere in the gridwork of streets and buildings is a scarred young man in a coffee shop. I wonder if he’s thinking about the girl he rescued from the rain.

I leave Sokka’s room and go into my own. 

Mine hasn’t changed much since I was a child either. The walls are still robin’s egg blue, and the matching dresser and desk that Dad built out of sturdy oak still sit where they always have. My twin bed sits below the window to let in the morning light, with white fairy lights winding along the white-painted bars of the headboard. 

The only things that have really changed are the framed pictures on the wall, and the myriad of things I have tacked to my cork board: train ticket stubs, flyers for charity events, postings for my high school swim times, pictures of my friends and I, dried flowers hung from ribbons. And the pamphlet from my mother’s memorial, dated eleven months and twelve days ago. 

It’s almost been a year. It feels like it was yesterday; it feels like a lifetime ago. 

I go to my closet and pull out a pair of leggings and one of Dad’s old sweaters. When I’m dressed I go back downstairs and into the kitchen. Momo follows me, weaving through my legs. He’s much happier now that I’m not wet. 

I make a sandwich and a cup of orange spice tea. I use the microwave because I’m impatient. Then I go back to the living room and curl up on the couch. I turn the TV on and boot up Hulu and settle into a favorite of mine, _The Golden Girls._ It’s like putting on an old cardigan: familiar and comforting.

My friends think I’m weird because I like watching a show about old ladies. But I like the show for its lessons in love, life, and friendship. They’re lessons that span generations. And it used to be something my mother and I enjoyed together.

My mother was prone to insomnia, just like I am. Countless nights I would creep down the stairs, unable to sleep, and find my mother curled up under a throw blanket Gran-Gran had knitted, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and _The Golden Girls_ reruns on TV. Her blue eyes would catch in the darkness, and she would smile at me and beckon me to her, inviting me to burrow into her side to share her popcorn and watch the show. 

“The moon likes our company,” she would tell me. 

It still likes mine.

An hour later my phone buzzes on the end table. I check it. It’s a text from my boyfriend, Jet. He’s off to college too, but he’s a few hours south, in Eugene. We text and video call frequently, and he makes a trip up to see me every few months.

But I worry. Our relationship isn’t what it was when we were both still in high school, and we knew going in that long distance would be hard. Sometimes I miss him fiercely. I miss him curled up here beside me on the couch or surfing in the ocean with me. And sometimes when he’s _here_ , I still miss him. Things just aren’t the same as they used to be.

_J > Hey babe _

I hold my phone in my hand and look down at the screen. I wait a few minutes to text him back. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want him to think I’m just waiting around for him to text me. I don’t. And he probably won’t even think that, but still, I wait.

K> _Hey what’s up?_

I turn my attention back to the TV, but I don’t have to wait long for him to text me back. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way I do, but I know he’s probably texting me between classes.

J> _I was thinking about coming to see you for spring break._

My heart skips in my chest. I haven’t seen Jet since winter break either, and I do miss him, no matter how much things have changed. And really, I don’t have any plans for break other than a few hikes with Aang. And Sokka will be home, too.

K> _I’d love that :) I miss you_

J> _I miss you too_

We text back and forth for a while, setting a date. He’ll be here on March 21st. It’s something to look forward to, at least. 

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

I retire to my room early. Uncle is still awake, working on one of his puzzles. He’s got his records on, and even with the door shut I can hear Sam Cook’s smooth voice.

_I was born by the river in a little tent. And just like the river, I’ve been running ever since…_

I find a box of clothes among the other boxes of things I have yet to unpack and find a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Even with the heater on, my room gets cold. It’s as though the wind seeps in through the cracks in the boards and the window’s old frame. I imagine that in the summer, it will be hot. Sam Cook continues to sing.

_It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die. ’Cause I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky..._

I change quickly before I climb under the duvet on the bed. I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling. I’m tired but I can’t seem to shut my brain off. The day keeps playing over and over in my mind: bumping into Katara, taking her home, my conversation with Uncle. 

I’m not someone who believes in coincidence. I think everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t always know what that reason is. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Katara and I ran into each other twice today. I _know_ it’s a small town, but what were the odds that she would be coming back onto the sidewalk right when I rushed down the stairs? And how likely was it that I would be at that caution light when she walked past? 

I think about what Uncle said, about closed doors and open windows. But Sam Cook seems to seal the deal for me:

_It’s been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gon’ come..._

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I’m still watching _The Golden Girls_ with Momo when Dad comes home. He’s walking with exaggerated care, and I can tell he’s drunk even before I smell the beer and whiskey on his breath or see the glassy sheen in his eyes. 

He hangs his coat up on the hook and braces his hands against the wall to slip off his boots before he makes his way to the kitchen. He sees me out of the corner of his eyes, and he flashes me a bright smile.

“Hey, snow pea,” he greets me, his words thick and slurred. “I didn’t see you there. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

I flick on the lamp on the end table. I haven’t realized the sun has set. I’ve been lost in thought. 

“I’m just watching TV.” I eye him, where he stands on the cusp between the kitchen and living room, propping himself up on the doorframe. “Did you catch a lot of fish?”

“Oh yeah. Rain always helps. Brings ’em to the surface, y’know.” Dad smiles at me again. “What did you do? Did the rain ruin your trip to the beach?”

I think of Zuko, with his timid smile and pink scar, and his warm car that smelled of bread. 

“No,” I say after a moment. “It didn’t ruin it at all.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko meet on the beach, and she volunteers her help with the tea shop.

* * *

_This is fact not fiction,_

_For the first time in years._

**_\- "A Lack of Color" by Death Cab for Cutie_ **

_**Zuko** _

* * *

Five days after Uncle and I move into town, I finally make my way down to the beach, mostly at Uncle’s insistence. 

We’ve been working nonstop on getting the tea shop set up, and he’s been on the phone with vendors and suppliers all morning, and there isn’t much else I can do for the moment. Uncle has decided he doesn’t like the color of the walls, and he wants to repaint. We ordered the paint yesterday and I’m waiting until it’s ready, which mostly means restlessly pacing the loft, so he sends me off.

I walk down to the beach, leaving my car parked in the alley behind the shop. 

It’s strange. I haven’t walked this much since before I got my license. In the city, it’s impossible to walk anywhere because it’s all just so far. But here, in this tiny coastal town, you can walk the length of the whole village without ever breaking a sweat. 

The beach is mostly empty. A couple is strolling along while throwing a frisbee for their dog. An old man is combing over the sand with a metal detector. There’s some kids, maybe ten or so, hunting for seashells on the tideline. I wonder if they know that the best time to collect shells is when the tides change, before the seagulls get a chance to scavenge them for the tender flesh inside.

There’s some cloud cover today, but they’re white and fluffy so I don’t think it will rain. But it’s cold. The wind is sharp and it buffets my hair and nips at my nose, and I shrink into the hood of my sweater. I bury my hands in my pockets and drift aimlessly toward the jetty on the southern end of the beach. 

I still haven’t heard from Mai.

I’m trying not to think about what that means. I’m sure she’ll get over it and come around. She always does. And we’ve gone longer without talking before. 

I reach the base of the jetty. It stretches up before me, high above my head, and extends out into the ocean. I want to walk down to the end, to feel the spray on my face and clear my head a little. 

I look around. If I walk back towards town, I can reach the end of the jetty where the sand slopes up to the top of the rocks, but that seems like more effort than I’m willing to put in. Instead, I find some handholds and start pulling myself up the rock face.

I pull myself up the side of the jetty, feeling the burn in my arms and shoulders. The rocks are slick and damp from the rain that fell last night, and my sneakers struggle for purchase. But I make it to the top, a little out of breath, with raw and numb fingers and sand-crusted sneakers. My forehead is damp with sweat and I mentally scold myself for getting out of shape. 

_I wonder if there’s a gym nearby_ , I think to myself, and then I snort. Probably not. I’ll have to start jogging at the very least, until I find something more suitable. 

I start for the end of the jetty. The top is compacted with sand. The water is calm and glitters in the weak sunlight. The waves lap at the shore and the rocks and fill my ears with its rhythm. It’s like a heartbeat. 

I make it to the end and sit down on the edge of the rocks. The sea salt sprays into my face and I close my eyes, letting the weak sun warm my skin. My jeans are going to be damp and sandy when I stand back up, but I don’t really care. 

I’m still thinking about Mai. But under that, I’m thinking about what Uncle told me again, about closed doors and opportunities. He’s told me similar things before, but this might be the first time I’ve listened.

Shortly after my fall from grace, when Uncle and I were planning our next move (as in, _I_ was trying to figure out where to go from there, and Uncle was kind enough to uproot his whole life for me), I had blown up. 

I was in my room in his house in Washington, the room he had graciously given me after my father kicked me out. I had been tired of hunting for jobs and apartments and cars. I slammed my laptop shut and stormed downstairs. Uncle had caught me just before I flew out the door, and he’d asked me what was wrong. 

“I want my old life back!” The words had tumbled out of me before I could stop them, angry tears welling hotly in my eyes. 

Uncle pulled me in for a hug and I broke down, like I hadn’t broken down since I was a child, his hands warm and soothing on my back and hair as he comforted me in a way no one had since my mother died. 

“Zuko,” Uncle had said. “I know you want what _was_ , but it’s time to look forward to what can _be_. And always remember, life happens wherever you are. It’s a matter of making it worthwhile.”

I think of Katara, with her ocean eyes and hair that smelled like rain, sitting in my car. Could she be the open window to all of the closed doors in my life? Is she an opportunity, right at my fingertips, waiting for me to take it? I don’t know, but I hope she might be.

I sit on the jetty for a while. Long enough for the ocean spray to seep into my hoodie and jeans and leave me shivering despite the warmth of the sun’s rays shining down on me. I stand up stiffly and brush the sand from the seat of my pants. 

I see her when I turn to go back. 

She’s on the other side of the jetty sitting beside a tide pool. She’s looking down at the water, trailing her fingers across the surface and causing ripples to shiver across it. I can’t see her face, but she’s wearing the same blue windbreaker, and her hair is braided down her back again. 

Before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself standing at the edge of the jetty and calling out to her. “Hey, Katara.”

Katara startles, her head swiveling around to find the source of the sound. Her eyes finally land on me, and even at this distance I can see how startlingly blue they are. She lights up with a smile.

“Hi!” She stands up and brushes the sand from her jeans. “Zuko, right?”

I deflate a little. _She didn’t remember my name?_ I think dejectedly, but I push it away and offer her a smile in return. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t been to the beach since we’ve been here. Thought I’d come by.”

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious? How can you live a stone’s throw from the ocean and wait _days_ to come and see it?”

The corner of my lips quirk up in a smile. “I’ve been a little busy.”

She nods. “Oh, right. The tea shop. How’s that coming along?”

It feels weird with me standing up on the jetty and her down below on the sand. Her neck is craned to look at me, and I’m peering down on her. 

“Hold on. I’m coming down.”

I scale down the jetty similar to how I climbed up it. I jump the last five feet or so and land softly on my feet in the damp sand. I'd be lying if I said I’m not trying to impress her. When I turn back to Katara, she’s been watching me. A blush rises in her cheeks, dusky pink and pretty. She seems a bit shy, and I decide that I enjoy the fact that she’s a little shy around me.

“Hi,” I say, a bit breathlessly.

She smiles. “Hi.” She fidgets, her fingers drumming across the outside of her thighs as her eyes flicker from me to the jetty to the ocean, searching for something to say. 

I break the silence.

“So uh, yeah, tea shop’s coming along nicely.” I clear my throat as heat burns my cheeks. Why is it _so hard_ to talk to her? It’s never been this hard to talk to Mai. Or any other girl, for that matter. “My uncle’s been putting me to work, so I’ve been busy. That’s why I uh, haven’t been down to the beach yet.” 

I don’t tell her that I hate the beach. It seems like she likes it here. 

“Is it just the two of you?” She poses the question while her fingers come up to run down the length of her braid. She twirls the ends of her hair around her finger before she lets it go, and her hand drops to her side.

“Um, yeah.”

I can see the questions in her eyes. _Where are your parents? Where’s the rest of your family?_ This girl is an open book. But Katara doesn’t ask any of those questions. 

Instead, she asks, “Do you guys need some help? Setting up, I mean.”

I think about the work that still needs done. Painting is going to push us back days, since all of the furniture I’ve so carefully arranged has to be moved to the middle of the floor and covered in tarps. And I’m not exactly a painter.

And, if I’m being honest with myself, I want to see more of this girl who quite literally fell into my life when I least expected it, this girl with ocean eyes and a dusky pink blush and a smile that causes warmth to spread in my belly like a shot of bourbon. 

I’m attracted to her, I realize. 

“Actually, that would be great.” I swallow the lump that has suddenly appeared in my throat at my realization. “My uncle wants us to paint. Only if you don’t mind that kind of thing. No pressure.”

“Oh no, I’m good at that. I don’t mind at all.” She flashes her bright smile at me again, and my heart stammers in my chest. “My dad does stuff like that all the time. He owns a boat repair shop down at the marina in Rockaway Beach, but he’s kind of a handyman too.” Color rises in her cheeks again when she realizes she’s rambling a bit. 

“Well, that works out, then. Because I’m not a painter. At all.” I wince internally. _Way to make yourself look like a socially awkward dork_ , I think. “I mean, I know the basics, and it can’t be _that_ hard, so um, I think I’ll be alright. Especially if I have your help.” I’m rambling now. I bite my tongue. 

She makes a sound that’s some cross between a chuckle and a giggle. It pierces me like a tattoo needle, embedding its ink into my skin. 

“I’d be happy to,” Katara says with a shy smile. “When?” 

“Uh—” I check the time on my phone. “Probably tomorrow. My uncle is sending me to Tillamook to get the paint this afternoon. I’ve got a list of everything he wants. I guess there’s a hardware store there or something. So it might be too late to paint by the time I get back. What time works for you?”

“I could come by later, after you get back,” Katara says. She’s got her bottom lip caught between her teeth and when she looks up at me from beneath her lashes, the sunlight reflects in them. Her eyes aren’t just the ocean; they’re a kaleidoscope too. “I mean..if you wanted to get started tonight.” 

I wonder if I make her as nervous as she makes me. 

“That’d be great,” I tell her, and I mean it. “If you’re not busy or anything.”

Her smile brightens. “No, I’m not busy.” 

She reaches for her back pocket and pulls out her phone. It’s an IPhone, but it’s older, dated. At least two generations older than mine. It’s in a teal-blue case. She’s got one of those pop-socket things on it, with a cartoonish narwhal on it. She taps at the screen for a moment, and then she’s looking up at me. 

“What’s your number? I’ll send you a text, then you can text me when you get back into town.”

I give it to her, and then she slides the phone back into her pocket. She leaves her hand there, and I can imagine the way her fingers curl into the rough denim. It’s like we’re in my car again. We’re just looking at each other, neither of us saying anything. 

Then I realize she’s looking at me a little expectantly.

“Right.” I clear my throat, a nervous habit. “Uh, do you...want me to give you a ride home again?”

Her eyes widen for a moment. That isn’t what she was expecting me to say, and I mentally curse myself. But Katara recovers quickly, and then there’s amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“It’s not raining today, so I think I can walk.” The corner of her lips turns up into a teasing grin. “But we can walk into town together, if you want.”

I smile back at her. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

The house is empty when I get back. Dad is in Rockaway Beach at the boat repair shop, and he told me he doesn’t expect to get back until late—it’s the busy season for him. Everyone brings their boats in this time of year to get them ready for summer after months of disuse. So I’m alone again tonight.

It doesn’t bother me, not really. I didn’t lie to Dad the other day when I told him that I don’t mind being alone. There’s a certain comfort in solitude. Sometimes, you find answers in the quiet that you didn’t know you were looking for. 

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the last year, finding those answers. 

I move through the house as though I’m floating just above the ground. I can’t explain it. I _know_ I shouldn’t feel this... _happy_ ...about spending time with a guy who is _not_ my boyfriend, but there’s something about Zuko that is just warm and inviting, like a crackling fireplace on a snowy night. Maybe it’s the scar, because I know that had to have come from a place of hurt, and I’ve been hurt too. But maybe it’s something else entirely.

I go upstairs first and pass by Sokka’s room without going in this time. Once I’m in my room, I rifle through my dresser drawers and closet until I come up with what I’m looking for: a worn-out pair of jeans with holes in both knees and a white t-shirt, both of which are splattered with paint. It’s what I always wear when I tag along with Dad to work on projects. I don’t change into them yet. 

I don’t know when Zuko will be back from Tillamook. It’s a forty minute drive both ways, and the poor guy might have trouble finding the hardware store. Maybe I should have offered to go with him, but that seemed a little too direct. Too bold. Too clingy. AS it was, I’d felt compelled to downplay my happiness about seeing him again. I remembered his name, but I didn’t want to seem...I don’t know. Too excited, I suppose.

_He’s probably got GPS anyway,_ I tell myself. _Everyone does._

Instead I take my change of clothes downstairs and leave them in the bathroom, ready and waiting for me. Then I make my way into the kitchen. The breakfast dishes are still there, and I go about loading them into the dishwasher. I pay attention to my phone, nestled into my back pocket, the entire time, but it doesn’t vibrate.

When the dishes are loaded, I get out the broom and start to sweep the kitchen. I move into the laundry room to sweep, and then the mud room. I stop just outside of the door that leads to the sanctuary. I stare at the doorknob. It’s unlocked. It always is. Part of me wants to go inside, but another part of me thinks— _knows_ —it’s a bad idea.

It’s too close to the date. 

After several moments I turn away and carry the dustpan to the garbage can in the kitchen. As the lid snaps shut, my phone vibrates and I jump. _When did I get so jumpy?_ I ask myself as I pull it out—fast, like his text will disappear before I get to read it and I’ll miss my chance to see him again.

But it’s not even from Zuko. It’s from Aang. 

A> _Toph says she’ll apologize if you do_

I sigh as I prop the broom against the wall and unlock my phone. My fingers hesitate about the digital keyboard as I try to think of something to say. That is _so_ like Toph I can almost laugh about it. This isn’t the first time she and I have had a falling out, but this one has been pretty bad, and it’s _her_ fault. I don’t see why I need to apologize. 

K> _I don’t think I need to. I didn’t do anything wrong._

I send the message and put the broom away. I feel bad about forcing Aang to be the messenger between us, but it’s not the first time for that, either. By now, Aang should be used to playing the peacemaker between me and Toph. Where us girls are a wildfire, Aang is a cool rain. I’ve never seen him get angry. I wonder if he’s even capable of it.

My phone vibrates again, and when I read Aang’s next message, my heart pulls painfully and guilt settles in my gut like lead. 

A> _I just wish you guys would make up. I hate it when you guys are fighting. It sucks being caught in the middle._

K> _I’m sorry. But this is Toph’s fault. She needs to grow up and apologize._

Aang doesn’t text me back.

I’ve got time to kill, and I don’t know what to do with myself. The kitchen is clean now, and I just tidied up the living room yesterday. 

I find myself in the mudroom again, standing in front of the door that leads into the sanctuary. This time I don’t hesitate when I reach out for the door knob and push it open, revealing darkness.

A cold breeze washes over me. It carries the smell of acrylic paint, dust, and disuse. I step over the threshold and reach for the lightswitch. It’s muscle memory, and my hand slides over it. The yellow bulb flickers to life, and I’m standing in the small, closet-like space that separates the house from the sanctuary.

When this was a church, this space would have been used as storage for things like the preacher’s robes and the sheet music. Now it’s our attic, where we keep our Christmas decorations and Sokka’s neglected workout gear and other things we can’t bring ourselves to get rid of. 

I walk across the threadbare carpet. There’s another door, the one that leads out to the sanctuary itself. It’s cracked open, just a few inches, just enough to let in the grayish light that filters in through the frosted windows. I walk up to it and stare at the open space between the edge of the door and the frame. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, but I always shut the door. I wonder if Dad has been in here...but Dad hasn’t come into the sanctuary since Mom died. Unless he’s doing it when I’m not around, or when I’m asleep. It’s not really any of my business, and I won’t ask him about it either. There are some secrets we keep from each other, and perhaps this is one of them.

I pull it open the rest of the way and step out into the large open space.

I can imagine what it was like when it was a church. That open space would be lined with heavy pews, filled with church-goers in their Sunday best, hands outstretched and faces turned up toward the ceiling as if they could see the spirits themselves in the wooden beams above. There would be hymns sung and prayers prayed, sermons given and tears shed. Someone might play the piano.

But it’s quiet in here now, as silent as a graveyard. It sort of looks like one in here too, with all of Mom’s paintings lining the walls or propped up on easels and stands across the floor like headstones. The paint, in lines and swirls and patches, are epitaphs. 

This room feels like a held breath.

I turn back and go into the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara get started on the tea shop. Uncle Iroh might be trying to play match-maker.

* * *

_I'll be your mermaid caught on your rock._

_Coming for your aid._

_Isn't it odd?_

_Isn't it silly now that you know?_

_Someone this slippery can't let you go._

**_\- "Mermaid" by Skott_ **

* * *

**_Zuko_ **

* * *

I have to admit, it’s a gorgeous drive. The highway weaves along the coastline and around Nehalem Bay, cutting through the thick forest of Douglas firs and evergreens. It’s peaceful.

I turn the radio up and drive.

The GPS on my phone guides me into Tillamook and to the hardware store. It’s hard to ignore the smell of cow manure, even with the windows rolled up. I know Tillamook is renowned for its dairy products, but the farm smell is cloying and pungent. 

I go into the hardware store and pull Uncle’s list out of my pocket. He’s written everything down, even the brand names, so I don’t mess anything up. It’s almost insulting, but I know it’s just because he’s pedantic. It’s what makes him good at business.

I grab a cart and head for the aisle marked for paint. He’s already called the hardware store and had the paint mixed up so I just need to pick it up. It hadn’t exactly been fun pulling up the website on my laptop and working with my uncle to find the correct shades and put the order in, but we managed it. I still have to grab brushes and rollers and tarps, though. 

I have to admit, having the brand names makes it easier, and soon enough my cart is weighed down with our supplies. 

I’m thinking about Katara again. I hadn’t been expecting her to volunteer her help when I told her about my project, but I’m not displeased by this development. In fact, I’m quite happy about it. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head, and now an opportunity to spend more time with her has conveniently fallen into my lap.

_Closed doors and open windows,_ I think as I add a drip pan to my cart. 

I wonder what motivated Katara to offer her help. Is that just the kind of person she is? Is she a kind soul who volunteers her time to strangers? Or did she see something in me, in my eyes, like a wounded animal, like someone thrown overboard struggling to keep his head above water? Maybe it’s something else entirely. Maybe she’s as intrigued by me as I am by her.

Her blue eyes flash through my mind again. I think that I wouldn’t mind drowning in them.

Katara and I have our work cut out for us. Uncle wants the entire downstairs painted, and he thinks it’ll take me a week or so. Maybe with Katara’s help, it’ll take a little less time. But I don’t know if she’s going to stick around and see the project finished, or if she’s only coming around tonight.

I don’t know what her schedule looks like. If she’s my sister’s age like I think she is, she might have a job to go to, or she might be in college. Spring break is still a week away, so she might only be able to help me tonight. I want to make the most of it.

It occurs to me then that I don’t even know her _age_. 

For all I know she’s a high school kid, and I squirm uncomfortably where I stand in the aisle with the paint brushes. I decide I’m going to find out her age tonight, and if she’s underage, I’m going to politely pull back. I’m not a creep. I don’t need a friend who’s still in high school, and I’m definitely not going to be romantically interested in one. I’m twenty-one. I’m not a damn cradle robber.

Finally, I’ve got everything I came for but the paint. I head over to the counter, where the paint samples are. The counter is empty, but there’s a bell with a small sign that reads, _ring for service._ I ring it, and while I wait I look at the different paint samples, the right side of my face turned to the counter. 

“Hi there, did you need something?”

I turn my face slightly toward the counter. There’s a young woman there, maybe a few years older than me, with dyed-red hair and a stud in her nose. I see her eyes comb over me appreciatively and for a moment, it feels nice. But I know when I turn to face her the rest of the way, when she sees my scar, and her green eyes dance over to it she’ll have that _look_ , one of shock and maybe a little repulsion. 

I hate my scar.

“Hi. I’m picking up an order for Iroh Szeto.” 

I turn toward her then, and her eyes flicker to my scar. I see the change in her face. The smile falls away and she stares at it for a beat too long. When she smiles again, it’s that polite, customer service smile. I pretend that I don’t notice the way her response to me has changed. I’ve gotten good at that over the last five years since I got the scar. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back with that.” 

She disappears, grabbing another cart to load the paint. Uncle bought something like twelve gallons, six of them in a green-apple color and four in a golden-yellow, like candlelight, for the main room, and two in cream for the kitchen. 

The woman comes back with the cart loaded with the gallons of paint. I paid for it over the Internet with Uncle’s credit card, so she just rings up the rest of my purchases. Then she puts them into the cart with the paint for me. 

The conversation is stilted, awkward. I can tell she’s tiptoeing around me, around my scar, like I’m made of glass and if she drops me I’ll shatter.

I fucking hate my scar.

When we’re done, I go out to the parking lot. I open the trunk and load the paint gallons and supplies. Then I’m back in my car driving down the scenic highway and I’ve got the radio up so loud that I hope I can drown out the cashier’s stare.

* * *

**_Katara_ **

* * *

My phone buzzes. I check the time. It’s been almost three hours since Zuko left. I’ve occupied my time with some reading I’ve been neglecting. Dad and Sokka bought me the complete collection of _Sherlock Holmes_ for Christmas, and I’m slowly making my way through it. I set the book aside and check my phone. It’s a message from Zuko.

Z> _I’m back in town_

Before I can type out a reply, a second text message comes through.

Z > _I can come pick you up if you want_

Followed shortly by a third.

Z> _If you need a ride_

I smile down at my phone. His awkwardness translates to texting as well, it seems, and I find it endearing and sweet. Something warm pools in my stomach, something that is tantalizing and addicting, but a little dangerous too, because if I give into it I might do something I’ll regret later. It’s like sweet wine.

I text him back.

K> _I wouldn’t mind a ride_

I don’t tell him that I have my own car. It’s sitting in the back yard where Dad left it after the last time he changed my oil, so Zuko didn’t see it when he dropped me off the other day. 

I don’t drive much. There’s no reason to. Everything in town is within walking distance, so I only drive when I go out of town, which isn’t often. The car is more of a decorative lawn ornament rather than a means of transportation at this point.

Another text comes in.

Z> _I’ll be there in a few_

An involuntary smile crosses my face at the prospect of seeing him again, and I hurry into the bathroom to change into my painter’s clothes. I don’t want to risk my long braid falling into a pan of paint, so I unravel it quickly and throw my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head. I grab my bag and throw my keys, phone, and wallet into it before I leave the house, locking the door behind me. 

I wait for Zuko on the steps that lead up to the sanctuary. He pulls up in his red Camry a few minutes later, and I make my way over to the car. He reaches across the seat to pop the door open for me again, and then I sit down, dropping my bag to the floorboard between my feet. 

This time, his car doesn’t smell like bread. It smells like he did that day when I ran into him, like bamboo and teak wood. 

“Hi,” he says, the timid smile curving his lips. “Thanks again for helping me.”

“I don’t mind.” I buckle in. “I didn’t have anything else to do, and I don’t mind helping out when I can.” I look up at him and smile. He’s watching me, still with that shy smile. I crack a grin. “And who doesn’t love unpaid labor?”

Zuko chuckles. The sound is low and throaty and _attractive,_ and I wonder if he knows that. He shifts the car into reverse and looks back over his shoulder, giving me a nice view of his face. He’s handsome, even with the scar, perhaps in spite of it. I can’t deny it.

But I have a boyfriend, and I don’t know who this guy is, and even if it feels like there is a chasm growing between Jet and I in the spaces between the texts and the calls, I’m loyal. So Zuko can be handsome all he likes, but that doesn’t mean I have to fall for him.

“Did you find the hardware store okay?” I ask to fill the silence.

Zuko’s gaze flickers to me for a moment before his eyes are back on the road. “Yeah, I did.” A pause. I see his nostrils flare, just slightly, and I wonder what that means. “The drive is nice.”

“It is. It’s beautiful.” It’s been a while since I’ve been to Tillamook, but I’ve ridden that stretch of highway my whole life. I know it like the back of my hand. “Tillamook is a nice little town too. Even if it smells like cow dung.”

Zuko snorts out a laugh and he looks back over at me, his eyes crinkling in amusement. It’s a strange sight to see that scar tissue fold and shift across his face. His eye becomes a narrow slit, until all I can see is a sliver of gold peeking out of the pink flesh. 

“Yeah, it really does.” Zuko’s lips curl up into a smile. “It could be worse though, I guess. It could smell like the city.”

It’s my turn to snort out a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.” I’m a small-town girl. The city always smells like pollution and I hate it. I glance over at him. “Are you from Portland?”

“Ah, no. Seattle.” His eyes flicker over to me. 

“Oh. I didn’t mean to assume.” 

“It’s fine.” He offers me a smile again. This one is a little tighter, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I wonder why he moved _here_ , of all places.

“Do you like it here so far?” I ask. “It must be pretty different from the city.”

“Oh, for sure.” He snorts out another laugh. But then he peeks back over at me, and there’s a crooked smile on his lips. “But it’s not so bad.” 

A blush rises in my cheeks. It sounds like he’s flirting with me, maybe just a little bit. “Well, good. I’m glad you like it here so far.”

And I _am_ glad. I find myself wanting Zuko to like it here so much that he never wants to leave. And I realize that I most definitely should _not_ want to feel like that.

Zuko drives past the Jasmine Dragon and turns down the narrow alley that cuts behind the building. Most of the town is built similarly. “Flood channels” are their official names—it provides a path for the water in the event of a flood or a tsunami. We’ve never had a tsunami, not in the town’s written history, but we’ve had a few floods, and those channels have spared a lot of buildings from being damaged. 

Zuko parks the Camry behind a considerably newer Corolla. But I don’t judge his car—mine is easily twice as old as his. 

“The uh, paint stuff is in the trunk,” Zuko says after he cuts the engine. His eyes dart over to me and a pink flush rises in his cheeks. “I...stopped, when I came into town, but then I thought you might like a ride…” 

He’s floundering, trying to explain himself, and it’s so awkward to watch that if it were anyone else I might be experiencing secondhand embarrassment, but with Zuko, it’s just so charming that I can’t help but smile. 

I smile kindly at him. “I can help you carry it in.” He looks a little relieved.

We step out of the car and I meet him at the trunk. He unlocks it with the keys, and I’m presented with gallons of paint and a few bags of brushes, rollers, pans, and tarps. 

“Looks like you’ve got everything,” I remark. 

Zuko grabs two cans of paint. “My uncle’s list was very thorough.” I chuckle as I reach for a can. “Hey, if you want, you can um, just kind of stack some in my arms. That way we don’t have to take as many trips.” 

I look up at him. He’s nestled the two cans he’s already grabbed into the crook of one arm. He ditched his hoodie somewhere between the beach and my house, and I can see the muscles of his forearm pulled taut against his creamy skin beneath the sleeve of his white t-shirt. 

I drag my eyes back to his face. “Okay.” 

He manages five cans before he starts for the back door. I grab the bags and follow him, scurrying past to open it for him. Then I follow him inside. 

I haven’t been into this secondhand store since long before it closed, and I’ve never been in this back room, but I surmise that the stainless steel appliances are new. I can see the coffee makers and tea kettles, the boxes of delicate porcelain that have yet to be unpacked perched on the counter, and the cleaning supplies they’ve been using. It’s a little cluttered in here, but not so much that Zuko can’t set his load down on a stretch of open counter space.

“Here, let me help you.” I move forward and set my bags down on the floor before I reach for the cans in his arms. 

The back of my hand brushes his chest and I can tell, even though the touch is quick and he’s wearing a shirt, that his chest is firm and muscled. A shiver runs down my arm and I busy myself with setting the paint cans down quickly, hoping he doesn’t see the color in my cheeks. 

“Thanks.” His voice is a little rough, and I wonder if he felt it too. 

I peek up at him from beneath my eyelashes. “You’re welcome.”

Before we can go back to get the rest of it from the trunk, an older man—the one I saw through the window the other day—shuffles into the kitchen. His golden eyes, identical to Zuko’s, take me in before jumping over to him. This must be Zuko’s uncle, I realize.

“I didn't expect you back so soon, Zuko,” the older man says. He turns to me with a friendly smile. “And who is this?”

“This is...Katara,” Zuko says, his voice muted. The older man’s eyes flicker between the two of us again. “She’s going to help us with some of the painting.”

The older man’s bushy eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “Oh, I see.” He gives me his friendly smile again. “We appreciate that very much, Miss Katara. I’m Iroh, Zuko’s uncle.” He comes forward and offers me his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

I shake his hand. “Likewise.” I cast my eyes around the kitchen. “So, a tea shop? I think the townspeople are going to love it. And the tourists, too.”

“That’s what we’re hoping for.” He chuckles. The sound is warm, and it reminds me of Santa Claus. _He_ reminds me of Santa Claus, with his kind smile and rosy cheeks. Just with gray hair instead of white. He gives his nephew a pointed look. “Zuko is _supposed_ to be starting a Facebook page for the business, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” 

“I haven’t had the time,” Zuko growls, a touch irritated. “You’ve had me so busy getting everything set up.”

“I can help you with that, too, if you need it,” I volunteer quickly. Zuko looks at me, surprised. I smile. “I sort of run my dad’s business page for his boat repair shop. He has _no_ idea how to use technology.”

“Neither do I.” Iroh chuckles again. “I’m sure Zuko would appreciate the help.”

We both look at Zuko. Color has risen in his cheeks again, and he fidgets nervously with the cans of paint. Zuko looks at me.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That would be nice.” He gestures to the door. “We should probably get the rest of the paint.”

“Right.”

Iroh steps back toward the main room. “I’ll be waiting in here. I think we can start painting in the main room, since it’s a little more organized than the kitchen. What do you think, nephew?”

“Yeah, probably,” Zuko says. “Since _I’m_ the one who set it all up out there.”

Iroh’s laugh carries as he disappears. Zuko opens the back door for me, and when we’re back at the trunk I load him up with more cans of paint. I grab the last two cans and follow him back inside. Once I’ve set them down on the counter, I help unload the ones he’s carried in. I’m careful not to touch his chest again.

“Sorry about my uncle,” Zuko murmurs. “You don’t have to help me with the business page. I know how to set one up.”

I arch my brow at him. “I was serious about my offer, Zuko.” His bright eyes flicker to me and my breath catches in my throat. I push on. “I don’t mind helping. If you want.”

He swallows hard, the knot in his throat bobbing. “Yeah, sure. I...wouldn’t mind.” He exhales and turns back to the cans of paint. “So, the green apple and the golden dawn are for the main room. The crema is for the kitchen.” 

“Maybe we should have just carried them all in there,” I chuckle. 

Zuko offers me his timid smile. “Yeah, maybe we should have. Too late now.”

“Just makes more work for us.” I scan the cans for the right colors.

“There should be eight that we need to take in there,” Zuko tells me. He starts checking the cans too. 

We get the right colors into the right room. Iroh is sitting at a table drinking tea. He stands up when we come in.

“We’ll have to get the furniture moved over here.” He gestures to the center of the room. Iroh looks at Zuko. “You picked up the tarps, correct?”

“Of course, Uncle,” Zuko bites out. “You gave me a list.”

Iroh holds up his hands peaceably. “It never hurts to double check, nephew.”

I look between the two of them. There seems to be tension there, and I wonder what it’s from. 

Zuko huffs out a breath and moves to one side of the room. Unsure of what else to do, I follow him and grab the end of the table he’s holding. Together we start to move the furniture without saying much. Iroh brings in the bags with the supplies and starts opening the tarps. 

By the time Zuko and I have moved the furniture from one side of the room to the middle, sweat is dripping down my back. I can see perspiration gathered on Zuko’s temples, making his dark hair stick to his skin. He rests his hands on his lean waist and I plant mine on my hips in a mirror image at the same time. We exchange a smile. 

“I guess we better get the tarps laid down,” Zuko says. 

We do that next. Then Iroh tosses him a roll of blue painters’ tape, and we work to line the electrical sockets and baseboards with it. After that, it’s finally time to start painting.

But first, Iroh makes a big deal of his aching back, rubbing it ruefully and moaning and groaning. 

“Oh, I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” he moans. “My arthritis is acting up today.”

Zuko clearly sees through the show. He rolls his eyes, but his lips are quirked up into a smile. “Fine, get out of here then. I think Katara and I can handle it. We wouldn’t want you to over do it.” He looks over at me, the corner of his lips pulling up higher. “Would we, Katara?”

I catch his drift. “Oh no, not at all.” I fight to keep my smile from turning into a grin. “Why don’t you leave it to us?”

Iroh gives us a grateful smile. “Oh, thank you. You’re both too kind to this old man.” He picks his way toward the door. “I’ll be up in the loft if you need me for anything.”

The bell above the door chimes as he leaves, and then it’s just Zuko and I standing in the silence of the empty tea shop. 

Zuko seems to sense the silence too. He looks down at me and then gestures to a set of speakers on a shelf above the register. “I can play some music, if you want.”

“That would be nice.” I smile at him. 

He gets the music going while I pour paint into the pans and ready our rollers. A few moments later the music starts to play. I recognize Vance Joy’s voice. I look up at Zuko as he crosses the floor back to me. 

He must see something in my face, because he pulls up short, his brow creasing. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the speakers. “Is this okay? I can change it if you don’t like it.”

I smile at him. “This is fine. I love Vance Joy.”

A pleased smile crosses his face. Then he picks up a roller, hefting it experimentally in his hand. His eyes seem to smolder like embers when he looks at me again. 

“Are you ready?” Zuko asks me.

I grab my own roller. “Let’s do this.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko get to know each other over the evening while they paint.

* * *

_Between two lungs, it was released._

_The breath that passed from you to me_

_That flew between us as we slept._

_That slipped from your mouth and into mine._

_- **"Between Two Lungs" by Florence + the Machine**_

* * *

**_Zuko_ **

* * *

“I’m sorry about my uncle, ditching us like this,” I say after we’ve been painting in silence for the last twenty minutes.

Katara looks up at me, a little startled. I’ve been watching her paint out of the corner of my eye—my _right_ eye, as I’ve carefully placed myself on her left-hand side—and I can tell she’s engrossed in thought. Her hand moves the roller as though it’s an extension of herself; methodical, practiced. My movements are jarring and uncouth in turn. 

“Oh, no worries,” she says after a beat. Her lips curve into a smile. “He seems very sweet.”

I shrug, turning my eyes back to the patch of wall I’m painting. “Sweet” is not a word I would use to describe what my uncle just did. _Conniving_ seems more applicable. Katara might have bought his “whoa-is-me” act, but I see right through it. He wanted to leave us alone.

I _knew_ this would happen as soon as I accepted Katara’s offer of help. Uncle hasn’t said anything about her since our conversation five days ago, but I know that as soon as he saw her, he started coming up with this plan. This plan where the two of us are conveniently by ourselves and I might take advantage of the opportunity that we think she represents. 

I can’t really be mad at Uncle either though. Isn’t this what I wanted, too? Yes, it is. So I suppose I’m not really upset with Uncle. I’m angry with myself, because I’m worried I’m going to mess this up somehow. 

“And it’s sweet of you to help him out, with the painting and setting everything up. And the Facebook page.” Katara continues, oblivious to my internal storm. She smiles over at me, and my heart skips a beat in my chest. How does she have this effect on me? “He’s lucky to have you.”

“It’s more like I’m lucky to have him,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

Her brow creases. “How so?”

Here I go, messing things up. 

I let out a sigh before I pick my words carefully. “Things are...not great. At home. Um, with my dad. So, Iroh is kind of like a dad to me.”

She nods, digesting the information. “Then I think you’re lucky to have each other.”

I meet her gaze. It’s sincere. And she’s smiling again, and I can’t help but smile back at her. 

“I guess we are,” I say.

She dips the roller into the green paint. My eyes trace the curve of her spine through her paint-splattered t-shirt. I need to find out how old she is, before I get too invested, too involved. But I can’t just ask her outright. That seems weird. So I come up with another way. 

“So, are you in college?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

“No.” My heart sinks and I want to bang my head against the wall in frustration. But then she speaks up again. “I’m…taking a gap year.” So she’s at least eighteen. That’s good. I feel relieved, perhaps more relieved than I should. She glances over at me. Her eyes are guarded. “What about you?”

I tense. I should have expected that question, but somehow it still takes me by surprise. “Uh, me too.” 

She quirks a brow at me. “Are you having second thoughts about your major?”

My brow furrows. That seems like an odd question. “Why do you ask?” 

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I thought you were my brother’s age. He’s in his second year, at OSU. Mechanical engineering.”

“Oh. I’m actually in my third year. Or I would be, if I wasn’t taking some time off.” 

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. This isn’t a voluntary gap year. In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever finish college. It’s a little out of my price range right now.

“What are you studying?”

“Business.”

She looks over at me, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “I guess that’ll come in handy for your uncle then.”

I blink. “Oh. Uh, he actually has a business degree, too. It’s kind of a family tradition.”

“Oh, that’s neat.” Katara smiles again. It’s like the sun; warm and blinding. I wonder if she knows she has that kind of effect on people. “My brother is the first person in our family to go to college. I’ll be the second...when I go.”

She hesitates there, just for a moment. If I wasn’t paying as much attention to her as I am, I probably would have missed it. I wonder if she’s having second thoughts about going at all.

“What will you study? When you go?” I prompt.

Katara shrugs again. “I don’t know. I used to be pretty set on med school, but I don’t think I want to do that anymore.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “Wow. Med school. That’s a pretty big aspiration.” I mentally face-palm myself. _You idiot, you think she doesn’t know that?_ I reprimand myself. _I bet that_ really _makes her feel better_. 

“Yeah, it is. And expensive, too.” She lets out a little laugh. It sounds bitter. “Maybe I’ll get a nursing degree instead.”

“I think you could do it. Become a doctor, I mean.”

Her eyes flash to me. She blinks. And then she smiles again. 

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you to say.” Her face falls. “But taking a gap year kind of hurts my chances of getting into med school.” 

There’s something there beneath her words, something she’s feeling but isn’t saying. It sounds like she’s saying goodbye. There’s a sadness there, in the undercurrent of her voice, and I’m beginning to think there’s more to it than the reasons she has given me. But I’m not so socially inept to know it’s not polite to ask, so I don’t. 

“You’ll figure it out,” I say lamely, and wince. I guess I’m still pretty socially inept. 

“I’m sure I will,” she murmurs. Her eyes flicker to me again. “What about you? Do you think you’ll stick with business?”

I grimace and keep my eyes trained on the patch of wall that is slowly becoming green. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I haven’t really thought about it. What good is a business degree going to do me now? Now that I’m here in this small coastal town with no hope of going back to the life I had before? I won’t be getting a seat on the board of my family’s company—my _father’s_ company. I’ll just have a useless business degree. It might as well be a very expensive paper airplane.

“I think it’s okay to not have it all figured out.” Katara says this slowly, as though she’s thinking carefully about what she’s going to say. “It’s like, when you’re a senior in high school, everyone expects you to have your life all planned out. But then they shove you out into the world and you realize that things don’t always go to plan. Things come up and they get in the way. Roadblocks and obstacles. And your plans go right out the window.”

_You’re a window,_ I think. _You’re a window to all the closed doors in my life. And I’m looking through the glass, and I think maybe I can see something there._

She continues. “And the older you get, the more you realize that _no one_ has everything all mapped out.” _My father does_ , I think. “Everyone is just out here, winging it.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I know I am.”

Katara looks up at me. She smiles, and she looks a little relieved. Maybe she’s a little embarrassed by her speech, but I think she’s right. I had my whole life planned out, and it was taken away from me like smoke in the breeze. Now I’m starting over.

“Me too,” she says. 

We fall back into silence with just the radio playing. This time, it doesn’t feel so awkward. 

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I really can’t believe I said all of that out loud to Zuko. 

I’ve been thinking about it for months, but I’ve never shared it with anyone else, not even Aang or Toph. And yet I opened my mouth and it just poured out of me, like water through a broken dam, fast-flowing and unstoppable. I don’t know what came over me.

But Zuko seemed to understand, and that makes me feel a little bit better about it. Maybe I’m not so alone in that.

I think about what he said, about his uncle and his dad and his gap year. They’re like pieces of a puzzle spread out in front of me. They go together somehow, but there’s more to it than that. There’s pieces missing, so I can’t see the bigger picture. I find myself wanting the rest of the pieces. I want to complete this puzzle. 

I peek over at him from the corner of my eye. His right side faces me, and with darting glances I take him in. 

He _is_ handsome, with high cheekbones and a sculpted jawline. His nose is angular and his brow is naturally arched, giving him a dark and mysterious appeal. His dark hair is shaggy and unkempt, curling against his neck and ears and forehead. He’s tall and wiry, with an athlete’s build. His t-shirt hugs his chest, and I can see the corded muscles of his neck hidden beneath the shirt. His biceps pull the sleeves taut. 

I tear my eyes away from him. I can’t be thinking of him like that. He can be a friend. I _want_ him to be a friend. But we can’t be anything more than that. 

“Whoa, you shouldn’t do that.” The words burst out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Zuko freezes, his roller inches from the wall. He turns to me. “Shouldn’t do what?”

Heat rises in my cheeks. I gesture to the wall. “Um, you should always paint one layer at a time. You know, to get an even coat.”

Zuko looks back at the patch of wall he’s painting. His brow furrows. “Oh. Right.” He clears his throat. “I knew that. I guess...I just wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Sorry,” I say. 

“No, you’re fine.” The timid smile is back. I wonder what he looks like when he smiles unguarded. I bet he’s beautiful. “Thanks for pointing it out.” One hand comes up to rake through his hair. _That explains why it’s messy,_ I think. “I just sort of zoned out.”

“It happens.” I look at the stretch of wall I’ve been painting. “It’s relaxing, you know? It’s a repetitive motion. It’s easy to zone out.” 

Zuko looks over at me. “Have you done this a lot?”

I shrug. “Paint buildings? Sort of. Like I said, I’ve helped my dad before. At home, I actually paint with acrylics. Like, on canvas.” 

That’s sort of a lie. The truth is I haven’t painted on canvas since Mom died. 

“Oh, that’s cool.” Zuko’s lips turn up in a lopsided smile. “What kind of things do you paint?”

“Animals, mostly. Stuff like wolves, or turtles, or otters.” I dip my roller in the pan and spread green paint over an untouched section of the wall. “I’ve done some landscapes, too.” I offer him a smile. “This is a great area for inspiration.”

He looks out the window behind him. The mountains in the distance are lit up with the setting sun. The sky is streaked pink and gold. It’s beautiful. 

“I can see it.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Are you artistic at all?”

Zuko snorts. “No. Definitely not. Unless stick figures count.”

I laugh. “I bet you draw the best stick figures.”

“Thanks.” Zuko chuckles. “My sister has the creative genes, I guess. She used to draw all the time when we were younger. She was really good, too.”

I frown. “She doesn’t draw anymore?”

He shrugs. “She sort of outgrew it, I guess.” 

I suppose I’ve sort of outgrown it, too.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

Time passes, and before I know it we’ve painted almost an entire wall and it’s gotten dark outside. I look at the clock on the wall above the register and I realize that it’s after eight p.m. and I’m starving.

“It’s getting kind of late,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve slipped into after spending upwards of an hour talking about why _Stranger Things_ is the best Netflix Original to date. “What do you say we call it a night?”

Katara glances up at the clock. “Oh wow, I didn’t even realize how long we’ve been painting.” She steps back and surveys our work with one hand on her hip. “We’ve done a good job.” 

“If we keep this up, we’ll be done in a few days. A lot sooner than I expected.” I glance sideways at her, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. “I mean, if you want to come back, that is.”

Katara chuckles at me. “I didn’t volunteer my services for one day, Zuko. I never leave a job unfinished.”

I smile, a real, genuine smile. I can’t help it. Warmth spreads throughout my chest and I find myself impossibly happy that she’s coming back. More happy than I probably should be. I reel it in quickly and fix a more neutral expression on my face.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” 

I look around. She has to be hungry too. I don’t want to pose a question like I’m asking her on a date, because I’m not. But even though it’s late and she’ll be back, I’m reluctant for her to leave. I’ve enjoyed her company more than I’ve enjoyed anyone else’s in...years. I don’t want to let that go just yet. 

I clear my throat. “Are you hungry? We could order a pizza or something before you go.”

Katara snorts, and I frown. _Did I say something wrong?_ I worry. But then she looks up at me with a smile. 

“The nearest pizza place is in Nehalem, and they don’t deliver after eight.”

“Oh.” Heat rises in my cheeks again. “Um...what is there to eat then?”

“Well, there’s the pub. Nan’s.”

I arch my brow at her. “I didn’t think you were old enough to go into a pub.” I see a blush rise in her cheeks, and I curse myself internally again. 

“I’m nineteen,” Katara says, just a touch defensively. She waves her hand through the air. “And minors _can_ go into the pub, just not upstairs. That’s where the bar is.” 

“Ah.” I hope I can salvage this before I offend her. “Is it far?”

She laughs again. The sound fills the room and echoes in my ears. “Zuko, in case you haven’t noticed, _nothing_ is far in this town.” She holds up the roller and smiles. “We can get these rinsed off and then we can walk over there, if you want.”

“Yeah, sure.” We go into the kitchen and rinse our rollers. I jerk a thumb at the door. “Uh, let me just lock up and stuff., then we can go.”

“Okay.”

I move about the room, locking up the front door and getting the lights. Katara trails me into the kitchen as I turn off the lights in there and go through the backdoor. 

“Let me just let my uncle know we’re going,” I say, gesturing to the stairs. “If he’s not asleep by now.”

“Sure.”

I walk to the bottom of the stairs and hesitate with my hand on the cool metal railing. It would be rude not to invite her up, right? The loft is still a mess of unpacked boxes, but I don’t feel right leaving her down here in this dark alley alone. 

“You can come up too, if you want,” I tell her.

Katara smiles at me. She has her hands wrapped around her arms as though she’s cold, and I realize she didn’t bring a jacket with her and the temperature has dropped considerably.

“Are you cold?” I ask. “You can borrow one of my jackets.”

“I am, a little. But I’ll be okay.” She chuckles at herself. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, really,” I tell her. “You can just bring it back tomorrow, or whenever you come back.”

Katara hesitates as she mulls it over. Finally, she nods. “Alright, but only if you’re sure.”

I lead her up the stairs and into the loft. The only light on in the main room is the light above the stove. I can hear Uncle’s soft snores from his bedroom. 

“I guess he’s already asleep,” I say to her, my voice low. It’s a moot gesture; Uncle could sleep through a hurricane. “Let me just grab a jacket for you and we can go.”

I move toward my room. Katara stays in the living room. I find a clean hoodie—one of my favorites, actually, maroon with black trim and quite warm—and I decide to bring it back out to her. She’s drifted over to the card table where Uncle is working on his latest puzzle. She’s holding a piece in her hand, thumbing the edge of it with her finger.

“He won’t mind if you put a piece together.”

She hasn’t heard me come out of my bedroom, and she jumps a bit, looking up at me like a child who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I offer her a smile, and she relaxes. 

“Are you sure?” Katara asks me, looking back down at the puzzle. 

I shake my head. “I’m sure. I do that too, just kind of find where a piece goes without meaning to. He won’t mind.”

Katara pushes the piece into place. I offer her the hoodie. She takes it and pulls it on over her head after she thanks me. She swims in it: the sleeves come down past her hands and the hem falls to the middle of her thighs. But she looks warmer, at least, and I would be lying if I said she didn’t look cute in my hoodie.

“Better?” I ask.

She smiles at me gratefully. “Much better. Thank you.”

We leave the loft and I make sure to lock the door behind me.

“You know, you really don’t have to worry about locking your doors,” Katara remarks as we go down the stairs. “Crime is basically nonexistent here.” She throws a look at me over her shoulder. The orange glow of the light outside the loft door reflects the humor in her eyes. “City boy.”

“Hey now,” I tease, a warning tone in my voice. “Where I come from, you can’t trust an unlocked door.”

That’s not _exactly_ true. I grew up in luxury apartments with a door man and a security system. Even the parking garage below the building required a code to get in.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katara teases me again, bumping me with her elbow when we reach the bottom of the stairs. “Like I said. _City boy_.” 

We start walking down the narrow alley between the Jasmine Dragon and the building beside it, some shop that sells trinkets and baubles that I haven’t been into yet. We step out onto the sidewalk and I take in the sleeping town.

It’s strange. Seattle never sleeps, but it’s clear that when the sun goes down here, the sidewalks roll up in this town and it falls into a state of hibernation. There’s no one out. Most of the shop windows are dark. I can hear the waves crashing on the shore, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the roar of a car engine. 

I follow Katara down the sidewalk. She walks confidently, with the hood of my sweater over her head and her hands buried in the pocket, without casting a furtive look around at all. 

I know what it’s like for girls in the city. They’re always on high-alert, walking with one headphone out and checking each pocket of darkness for danger. But Katara walks down these streets like she owns them, like they’re the hallways of her home, comforting and familiar.

She takes me to the pub, which appears to be the only thing still open. It’s a two-story building made of dark wood. The window shutters are painted a dark green or maybe black; it’s hard to tell in the semi-darkness. I can hear country music playing from upstairs.

When I see the sign and I know it’s the right place, I pick up my pace so I can open the door for her. Katara gives me a surprised little smile, and I return it before we duck inside.

It smells like beer and grease and a little bit like sea salt inside. The ceiling is low and crossed with beams. Framed posters, pictures, and more adorn the walls. I take it in quickly as I follow Katara to a booth along one wall. It’s clear that what adorns these walls is the history of this town, like a scrapbook. 

Katara slides into the booth that faces the back wall, leaving me the side that looks out over the restaurant. I’m pretty sure she’s done that intentionally, so I can continue to look around. 

Down here, it’s mostly empty. Only a few other tables are filled. But up the stairs just beyond the breakfast counter, I can hear the clink of glasses and the heavy laughter and conversation of intoxication, and I know that’s where the real pub is, just like Katara had said, where the real action is. 

A waitress comes over with two menus and two glasses of ice water in her hands. The left side of my face is shrouded in darkness in the low lighting, so the waitress hasn’t seen my scar and she has her friendly smile on. 

Katara looks up when the waitress sets down the menus and the waters. 

“Well, Katara, what a sight for sore eyes!” The waitress beams a bright smile at her. “What do you think you’re doing, starving your old man? Don’t you know he’s been in here to bother me _three times_ this week?”

Katara laughs. “Oh no, _I’m_ not starving him, Sela. Don’t you know he just likes the beer?”

Sela flushes, but I don’t understand why. She chooses right then to turn her attention to me. Her eyes comb over me quickly, but I’m assuming she still doesn’t see my scar because her friendly expression doesn’t falter.

“And who’s this handsome fellow?” Sela asks with a white-toothed smile. She looks back at Katara, one brow arched. “You and Jet didn’t break up, did you?”

I deflate. _She has a boyfriend,_ I think dismally. _I guess that window is shut too._

Katara shakes her head. “No, no. This is Zuko. He’s a friend.” Katara smiles at me, but it’s hollow, like an abandoned rabbit hole. I wonder what that means. “He and his uncle bought Zei’s secondhand store.”

“Ah, I heard about that!” The waitress turns back to me. “Welcome to town, Zuko.” She smiles at both of us. “I’ll let you two look over the menu. I’ll be back in a few.”

She walks away, and I force myself to look at Katara. Her eyes are focused out over the restaurant, and even in the low lighting, I can see the blush in her cheeks. I wonder what _that_ means. 

“I didn’t know you have a boyfriend.” I struggle to keep my voice neutral. _You have no right to be upset,_ I tell myself. _You barely know her. And spirits, she’s gorgeous. Of course she has a boyfriend._

Katara finally looks at me. The hollow smile is back. “Yeah. Jet. He’s in college at U of O. We’re doing the long distance thing.”

“Ah.” I pick up my water and take a drink. 

Katara crosses her arms on the table in front of her. Her fingers are twisted into the ends of my sleeves, twitching and rubbing at the material. She’s stretching them out, but I don’t mind. 

She looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes, her lips pursed into something that’s almost like a pout, and I feel a flicker of heat plunge directly to my groin because there’s something so _sensual_ about that look on her. 

“What about you?” Katara asks. “Do you have a girlfriend back in Seattle?”

I think about Mai, about the last thing she said to me as we stood outside of my uncle’s house in the pouring rain. Neither of us had an umbrella, and her hair was dripping. Her makeup was running down her cheeks. I couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or if there were tears, too. I’ve never seen Mai cry.

“If you get in that car—” Her raspy voice had been thick, and she had jabbed an accusing finger at my car. “—don’t bother to call me. Lose my number. We’re _through,_ Zuko.”

I find myself shaking my head. “No, no girlfriend.” 

Her eyes search my face. I wonder if she thinks I’m lying, because there’s no way she’s wondering how I don’t have a girlfriend. The scar has practically ruined any chance I have with girls. Mai is an exception because she knew me before. And maybe it’s a good thing that Katara has a boyfriend, because there’s no way she can find me attractive with half of my face burned off.

Then she drops her gaze to the menu and changes the subject. “I guess we better find something to eat, huh?” 

There’s a tension in the air around us. I can feel it on my skin like electricity. When Katara looks up at me again, it sparks. 

“Nan’s is infamous for its Irish food,” Katara tells me. “But they sell American food too. Burgers, steak, that sort of stuff.”

“Good to know.” I look over my menu. It’s neatly divided into two sections: the Irish side and the American side. I’ve never had Irish food, so I look at the list of burgers, steak, and chicken options. 

“My dad always gets the shepherd’s pie. We’re not Irish, but he swears in a past life he was an Irishman.” Katara chuckles a bit. “And most of the time I believe him. He can drink like one, at any rate.”

I chuckle too, and some of the tension eases.

I have no right to be upset. I barely know her. It’s not her fault if I’ve been trying to read between the lines, or that my uncle put it into my head that I need to move on and build a life here. It’s not her fault that all of my doors are closed. 

I settle on a cheeseburger and fries, and since Katara closes her menu a few seconds after I shut mine, I’m assuming she’s figured out her order, too. A few minutes later Sela comes back. She’s carrying a shot of whiskey on a tray.

“I didn’t order that,” I say stupidly, since she knows I didn’t.

“It’s on the house,” Sela replies as she sets the shot down in front of me.

“It’s a house speciality,” Katara explains. “Sela’s sons own a brewery in Portland. Beer and whiskey.”

“Oh.” I pick up the shot. I gaze up at Sela. “You didn’t check for my ID.”

The waitress offers me a wink. “I won’t tell if you won’t. What’s one shot?” She looks over at Katara. “Sorry, girly, but I’m under strict orders from your dad that you can’t have any.”

Katara rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips are pulled up into a smile. “What a buzzkill.”

Sela and Katara laugh, and I feel like I’m left out of some inside joke I don’t know about. But I can see the fondness in both of their eyes. I wonder what kind of person Katara’s dad is. It’s clear she cares deeply for him, and Sela is a fan of him too. He must not be anything like my father.

Sela looks back at me. She gestures to the shot in my hand. “Well, what are you waiting for? Take the shot!”

I hold the shot up to my mouth. I don’t tell them that I don’t like whiskey. I’m more of a vodka man. But I think it might be offensive if I turn it down, and in truth, I could use the shot. 

I close my eyes and tip it back, letting it hit the back of my throat. It goes down smoothly. It’s pleasantly warm as it slides into my belly. I can taste it on my tongue, like honey and spices, and it’s actually quite nice. I set the glass down on the table and look up into Katara and Sela’s expectant faces.

“What do you think?” Sela asks, her face creased into an excited grin. 

Katara beams a smile at me.“It’s good, right?”

“It’s great.” I return their smiles. Then I arch my brow at Katara. “I thought your dad didn’t let you drink.”

“He doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean I always listen.” She and Sela exchange a conspiratory look, and I can’t help but smile.

Sela glances back at me. “Now that you tried the whiskey, what do you say about trying a beer?” She holds out her hand. “After I check your ID, of course.”

I smirk crookedly as I reach for my wallet. “How can I say no to that? You should’ve been a saleswoman.”

Sela laughs, and so does Katara. My smirk widens. I hand over my ID and Sela checks my date of birth.

“Hm, you’re from Seattle, huh?” Sela hands back my card. She grins at me. “So you’re a city boy, then.”

I look over at Katara and find she’s stifling a laugh behind her hand.

I throw my hands up in the air. “Okay, okay. I’m a city boy. Sue me, alright?”

Katara can’t hide her laughter anymore. The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement, and the low light catches her eyes. She’s so beautiful, I can barely stand it.

_She’s got a boyfriend_ , I remind myself. But I’m feeling the warmth of the whiskey in my belly and I’m drunk on her smile. I wonder if her hesitancy earlier is because things aren’t going so well between her and her boyfriend. 

So maybe the window isn’t closed all the way. Maybe if I’m patient, it’ll open, and I can take my opportunity.

I’ve never been a patient person, but I think I can be for her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko walks Katara home and she contemplates her relationship with Jet. Later, Zuko receives an unexpected phone call.

* * *

_There's a leak in this boat._

_Someone toss me a rope_

_And a headrest for my, headrest for my soul._

_- **"Headrest for My Soul" by AWOLNation**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

By the time we leave the pub, the temperature has dropped even further and I’m grateful Zuko loaned me his hoodie. It’s comfortable and warm, and it wraps around my body like a blanket. It smells nice, too, like him, like bamboo and teak wood and a little like woodsmoke. I catch myself wanting to bring the collar up to my nose to inhale the rich scent, but I don’t.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Zuko’s voice is quiet in the still night.

I peer up at him to find that he’s watching me. I smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

We start in the direction of Pearl Street. Despite the chill in the air, we’re moving slowly, like nectar in a sieve. It’s as though neither of us are in any hurry to part ways. I know that I don’t want him to leave, and I know I _shouldn’t_ feel that way. I have a boyfriend. 

But there’s something about Zuko that draws me in. I’m a moth to a flame. 

I have to be careful. I can be friends with this intriguing stranger, but I can’t be anything more than that. I love Jet. It doesn’t matter that he’s hours away from me, and that things haven’t been the same with us since my mom died. 

I don’t know. It’s like he doesn’t know how to be with me anymore. He tiptoes around me, guarded and aloof. He handles me like I’m fragile, like I’m a piece of glass or like a delicate flower that he might crush in his hands if he’s not careful. He’s reserved with his words, like there’s a dam on his tongue that filters his words. 

I miss the Jet I used to know, the one who was never afraid to say what exactly was on his mind and would tell me not what I wanted to hear, but what I needed to hear. The Jet who stood by his convictions, whose eyes would ignite with a fire as we debated everything from politics to religion.

But that Jet is gone. Now he holds me in his hands like I’m going to break. It’s frustrating. I just want him to _talk_ to me. To treat me like I’m a person, not some breakable little thing. 

It’s not just Jet, either. It’s my dad and my brother and my friends. They all treat me that way. I’m tired of people watching me, checking on me simply to see if I’m holding it together or if I’m cracking. 

I’m not fragile like a flower. I’m fragile like dynamite. And sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode.

“Is everything okay?”

Zuko’s voice breaks me from my reverie. I look up to see him watching me, his brow creased. I realize that we’re almost to my house and I haven’t said anything since we left the pub. I’ve been too lost in my own thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.” I smile reassuringly. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for letting me help you out.”

“No, I should be thanking you for helping me.” His lips turn up. 

“You have.” I chuckle. “At least accept my thanks for walking me home and taking me out to dinner.” 

I bite my tongue between my teeth. The words slipped out before I could stop them, and it’s not until after they are hanging in the air between us that I realize I made it sound as if we were on a date.

Zuko’s voice is muted in the chilly night. “You’re welcome, Katara.” The way he says my name sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

Our feet crunch on gravel and I realize we’re already at my house. I look up. The lights are on in the living room and Dad’s truck is parked in the gravel. I slow down when we get to the stairs that lead up to the door and turn back to Zuko.

He looks radiant in the yellow glow of the porch light. His eyes are smoldering as he watches me, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

“Thank you again for walking me home.” I smile. 

This is the part where if we were on a date, he might kiss me goodnight, or if I were bold enough, I would kiss him. But we’re not on a date, so we just stand there looking at each other. 

I thumb the hem of his jacket where it hangs against my thigh. “I guess I should give you back your hoodie,” I say, but Zuko shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it.” The corner of his lips tug up into a smile. “You can give it back to me tomorrow.” 

There’s something in his eyes, a promise of something I can’t quite name, but it causes a blush to rise in my cheeks.

“Okay.” I look up at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. I wonder if it’s a nervous habit. “What time is good for you?”

“Whenever it works for you,” I say with a smile. “I don’t have any plans, so I’m free all day.”

He smiles back. “Is nine o’clock okay? Or is that too early?”

“That’s perfect.” I tell him it’s fine, but the truth is that I’m not a morning person at all. But I want to see him again.

“Okay. I can come pick you up if you want.”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other. This is where we say goodbye.

I force the words past my lips. “Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Katara.”

I turn and go up the stairs. I pause with my hand on the doorknob and look back at him. He’s shifted to stand to the side, and I see him profiled in the porch light. He looks a little lost. 

He must sense my eyes on him because suddenly he’s looking up at me. The shy smile is back. I smile at him, and then I open the door and go inside.

Dad is sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He’s watching an old movie— _Top Gun,_ if I’m not mistaken—and he looks up at me when I come inside. I see his eyes take in the unfamiliar jacket, and then he reaches for the remote and mutes the TV. 

“Where have you been?” He poses the question casually, but I can see the curiosity in his eyes. He hasn’t been drinking tonight. “You realize it's after 10, right?”

I glance up at the clock on the wall and my jaw drops open. It’s almost eleven o’clock. How did time slip away from me? It was just after eight when we left the tea shop. Did we really spend over two hours at Nan’s?

“Sorry, Dad.” 

I move toward the kitchen, but the sound of Dad’s feet hitting the rug has me turning back toward him. He’s got one eyebrow raised and his elbows on his knees, fingers tented in front of his face as he watches me.

“That’s all the answer I get?” Dad makes a _tsking_ noise. 

“Well, if you had a cell phone, I could have called you. Or texted. I didn’t know when you would be home.” I offer him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Dad leans back on the couch. “Well, I don’t need a cell phone, not with friends who call my landline to tell me my daughter is at Nan’s eating with some guy who is _not_ her boyfriend.”

I narrow my eyes. If I had to guess who had ratted me out to my dad, it would be Bushi. He had come down from the pub when Zuko and I were almost done with our meal. He hadn’t said anything to me, but I had caught his eye.

“So who is he?” Dad prompts.

“He’s a friend,” I answer. “His name is Zuko. He and his uncle bought Zei’s old place. I was helping Zuko paint it today, and to thank me, he bought dinner.”

For a moment Dad studies me. “Ah.” His eyes fall onto the hoodie. “I see.” He meets my gaze. “When did you meet this guy?”

“The other day,” I answer vaguely. I slouch against the doorframe. I’m too tired for this conversation, and frankly, too old. I’m an adult. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I’d be out. I’ll leave a note next time.” 

That seems to pacify him, and Dad nods. He grabs the remote and I walk into the kitchen and get a glass of water. I walk back through the living room, heading for the stairs.

“Katara.”

I pause with one hand on the railing. “Yeah, Dad?”

He looks over at me. “Everything okay with you and Jet?”

I’m a little surprised by his question. My dad has never cared for Jet. He’s never said it in so many words, but it’s evident in his cool formality when he speaks with him, and the way the corners of his mouth turn down just slightly when he talks about him. And I’ve never known why.

His lips are downturned now.

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s coming up next week for spring break.”

“Hmph. Is he now? Well, just make sure he has a place to stay, ‘cause he sure in the hell isn’t staying here.”

I let out a silent sigh. “I know, Dad.” We have this conversation every time Jet visits.

“Okay. Just checking.” Dad nods slowly as he turns back to the TV. “Night, snow pea.”

“Night, Dad.” 

I go upstairs to my room. It’s a little chilly in there, so I dig out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and trade my jeans for them. I unhook my bra under my shirt and slide it out through the sleeve of my shirt and Zuko’s hoodie. I allow myself to do what I resisted doing earlier and bring the collar of the hoodie up to my nose and take a deep breath, drinking in the smell. Then I grab my book and settle under the quilt on my bed, but then I think of something. I grab my phone and send Zuko a text. 

K> _Hey city boy. Text me when you get home safe._

I smile to myself as I open my book and drop back into _The Hound of the Baskervilles._

I’ve been reading for ten minutes when Zuko texts me back.

Z> _Made it home. Only had to fight off one group of thugs. I think my pride is the only thing that’s wounded._

I chuckle and type out a response.

K> _I’m sure your pride will live. See you tomorrow._

A few minutes pass. I imagine him unlocking the door to the loft and stepping into the dark space. The loft smells like jasmine and oranges. I can see him going to his room and dropping onto his bed because I know he must be as tired as I am, his muscles aching and stiff from moving furniture and brushing a roller over the wall for hours, and checking his phone for my text.

My phone vibrates again.

Z> _Hope my hoodie keeps you warm til then. Goodnight_

A girlish smile creases my face. It’s stupid. _These feelings_ are stupid. I shouldn’t be sitting here smiling at my phone like some lovesick little girl, and I definitely shouldn’t be curled up in bed wearing the hoodie of a guy who isn’t my boyfriend. 

Part of me wonders what’s wrong with me. I’ve been dating Jet for over two years, and I’ve never so much as _looked_ at another guy. I try to tell myself that it’s just because Zuko is so _new_. He’s a break in the monotony. He’s a sunrise after a long night. But that doesn’t necessarily make it any better.

I take off his hoodie and throw it onto my desk chair. But not before I bring it to my face, inhaling the scent of bamboo, teak wood, and spice one more time.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

By the time I walk up the steps to the loft, I’m feeling oddly detached from myself. It’s like watching a scene from a movie: boy meets girl. Girl is way out of his league. Boy falls for Girl. Girl has a boyfriend. Drama and angst ensues. 

I just want to know how it ends. 

Of course, I don’t know if there’s going to be drama and angst. But knowing my luck, it’s probably inevitable. I know that Katara has a boyfriend, and I’m going to respect that. But it doesn’t mean a guy can’t hope.

I don’t understand it. I’ve never felt so _strongly_ for someone so quickly. Even with Mai, it took _years_ for me to feel something beyond friendship, even though she had been pining for me since we were kids. With Katara...it’s different. It’s like one of my mom’s sappy romance books.

My life has become a Nicholas Sparks novel.

I go into the bathroom to take a shower. I’m sweaty and I smell like paint, and I don’t want to smell like that when I pick Katara up tomorrow, even though I’m going to smell like that by the end of the day. It’s stupid; I shouldn’t be trying to impress her. She’s a _friend_. A very pretty friend. Who has a boyfriend. 

I turn the water on, hot enough to fill the bathroom with steam. It curls in the air and fogs the mirror. I empty my pockets and strip out of my clothes, depositing them in the hamper. I check my phone and try to pretend my heart doesn’t pick up its pace when I see Katara sent me a text a few minutes ago. 

K> _Just one, huh? Sounds like you got lucky then :) And I’m sure your pride will live. See you tomorrow._

I chuckle. I can imagine her in her room, ready for bed but waiting up to make sure I got home safe. I wonder if she’s still wearing my hoodie. 

And with that thought in mind, I text her back.

Z> _Hope my hoodie keeps you warm til then. Goodnight._

It’s only after I send the text that I realize that might be too flirtatious. But it’s too late now, so I hope that Katara knows its all in good fun and she can interpret it however she wants.

I step into the shower and let the hot spray beat away the ache in my shoulders. After I clean up, I stay there until my skin is pink from the heat and I feel like my feet are back on the ground. I step out and wrap a towel around my waist before I check my phone. 

Katara hasn’t texted me back, and I try not to feel disappointed. For all I know, she fell asleep while waiting for my response. 

I’m about to go to my room when my phone starts buzzing in my hand. I look down with a frown; no one ever calls me but Uncle, and he’s most definitely still snoring in the next room. 

My sister is calling me. And it’s midnight.

I answer because I think something might be wrong. “Azula?”

“Hello, Zuzu. How’s the coast this time of year?” 

I scowl. She sounds like her normal self. Which means everything is fine, and she’s calling me because it benefits her in some way. She’s probably calling to rub it in. _Ha-ha, the company is mine now. You’re out of the way and one day, Dad’ll make me CEO while you live amongst the commoners._ It is _so_ Azula; I nearly laugh out loud.

“Fine,” I reply tersely. I leave the bathroom and duck into my bedroom. “What do you want?”

“What, I can’t call up my dear brother and see how things are going? I haven’t spoken to you since you left.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” I grab a t-shirt and a clean pair of pajama bottoms from my dresser and toss them onto my bed. “Again, why are you calling me?”

She sighs dramatically. I can picture her sitting on her king-size canopy bed in the luxury apartment in her silk pajamas, her face covered in some weird clay mask as she watches the latest episode of _Riverdale_ with a bowl of cherries beside her. 

When Azula answers me, her voice is flat and cold. “You need to talk to Mai.”

I snort. “That’s why you called me? Seriously? I thought someone died.”

“Something _has_ died. My patience. Mai is being an absolute bitch, and I’m about to snap. _You_ need to fix it.”

I roll my eyes. Azula is _so_ dramatic. “I’ve _tried_ to talk to her. She won’t answer my texts.”

“So call her, dum-dum.”

I bristle at the nickname that she has used since we were children. Somehow, it’s even more grating than Zuzu. Probably because most of the time, I _am_ a dum-dum, and I hate it when Azula is right.

I roll my eyes. “Do you really think she’s going to answer?”

“If she doesn’t, then you need to come up here and fix this, Zuko.” 

Her tone is sharp, commanding. It’s that fire that my father has always seen in her that he has never seen in me. Azula is a force to be reckoned with; a natural-born businesswoman. She has the guts to do what it takes to run a successful business. Apparently, I don’t.

“I’m not driving four hours just to have Mai slam the door in my face.” 

“Coward.”

My temper is rising. I clench my jaw and try to reign it in. I don’t want to raise my voice and wake Uncle by accident. I swallow hard against the fiery lump rising in my throat. It is an angry dragon, waiting to spring forth and attack. I won’t let Azula goad me into it.

“I didn’t want this,” I hiss, keeping my tone low. I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and drop my towel. I quickly yank on my pajama bottoms. “I didn’t have a _choice_.”

“Yes, you did, Zuko. You most definitely had a choice. And you chose _wrong_. These are the consequences of your actions. Now you have to live with them.”

My teeth are clenched so hard my jaw is aching. My free hand is curled into a fist, my fingernails digging into the fleshy part of my palm. Azula always knows where the chinks in my armor are, and she’ll hit them mercilessly until I surrender. 

“Whatever.” I pace the floor of my room. “Either way, Mai broke up with _me_ —”

“What’s new there?”

“—and maybe I’m tired of fighting for her!” The words burst out of me, my volume rising to a near-crescendo, before I clamp my teeth against my tongue until it smarts. I squeeze my eyes closed. I’ve just given Azula more ammunition.

Azula chuckles. “What an interesting development, Zuzu.” 

“Shut up,” I snap. 

“Have you _told_ Mai that?” To my surprise, Azula’s tone isn’t malicious or cold. She sounds...genuinely curious. And that makes me suspicious.

I narrow my eyes. “Well, no. Not exactly.” In fact, the texts I’ve sent her over the last few days don’t really talk about what happened. _We made it safe. I miss you. I’m sorry._ And each one was answered with a silence has that said more than our words ever have. “Like I said, she’s not talking to me.” I let out a breath. I want to get out of this conversation, and I know I’ve screwed up. Azula will tell Mai everything. So even though I don’t mean it, even though I don’t want her to, I say, “She’ll come around.”

Azula clicks her tongue. “Oh, don’t be so sure about that, Zuzu. Maybe she’s tired of fighting for you, too.”

I bark out an incredulous laugh. “When has she ever fought for me? I mean, come on, Azula. As soon as I screw up or make her unhappy, she runs away. She’s never fought for this, for _us_ , not _once_ , in the five years we’ve dated.”

“Hmph.”

“What?” I demand to know. 

“Do you love her?”

I blink. “What?”

“I asked if you love her, dum-dum.” I can practically hear Azula rolling her eyes. 

I open my mouth, the word _yes_ on the tip of my tongue. But it’s reflexive, like reaching for a hot iron when it falls off of the counter. If I grab it, I’m going to get burned. I close my mouth again and swallow the word. 

Azula is getting impatient. “Well?” 

“I don’t know,” I murmur.

Azula scoffs. “You’ve been with her for _five years_ , Zuko, and you _don’t know_ ?” She laughs. The sound is jarring and cruel. “Maybe I ought to devote my time to helping her get _over_ you. You don’t deserve her.” 

“Screw you, Azula.” 

Azula lets out a sigh. “I tried to help you, Zuzu. But clearly, you don’t want my help. A stupid decision, really, but we’ve done this dance since we were kids, haven’t we?” I grit my teeth. “Look, you need to figure things out with Mai. She’s so miserable and cranky that even Ty Lee can’t be around her. She says Mai is ‘murking up’ her aura, whatever that means.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “I’d love to figure this out, but like I said, she. Won’t. Talk. To. Me.”

“I can fix that.” 

It’s my turn to sigh. The last thing I want is for my sister to be meddling in my business. Azula’s ‘help’ always does more harm than good.

“Whatever,” I say. “Is that all? I want to go to bed.” 

“It would be nice to hear a _thank you_.”

I snort. “Thank you for what? You haven’t done anything.” Azula lets out an indignant sound, but before she can answer, I go on. “Just have Mai call me, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The line goes dead, and I drop onto my bed. I let my phone fall onto the duvet before I rake both hands through my hair, and a frustrated growl erupts from my mouth. It’s not quite the dragon, but it’s close. Azula has a way of getting under my skin. She also has the uncanny ability to do that on days where I’m actually happy.

I slip under the covers, but my thoughts are too loud. I can’t believe I confessed to Azula that I don’t know if I love Mai or not. I’ve never spoken the words out loud. I’ve barely admitted it to _myself_. I’ve always just gone along with whatever Mai and I were, never really thinking about it beyond the fact that Mai was fun to sleep with and hell to fight with. 

This is going to come back and bite me somehow. I just know it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara deals with an unexpected truth from Toph and Aang. Zuko has an honest conversation with Iroh.

* * *

_Won't tell anybody that you turn the world around._

_I won't tell anybody that your voice is my favorite sound._

_I won't tell anybody, won't tell anybody._

_Don't believe the things you tell yourself so late at night._

_And, you are your own worst enemy._

_You'll never win the fight._

_- **"Parachute" by Ingrid Michaelson**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table. I lift my head off the pillow and out of my dreams, and reach for it. When I check the caller ID, I’m surprised to see Toph’s name on the screen. 

I sit upright and answer the call, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Katara.” Toph always sounds so young on the phone—more like a twelve year old instead of an eighteen year old. I would never tell her that, though.

“Hi, Toph.” 

The silence stretches between us like the distance between oceans. We haven’t talked in weeks. 

“Soooo…” Toph drags the word out before she drops into silence. I wait patiently. “Um, maybe we should talk. About things.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe we should.”

“Breakfast at Tiffanie’s?”

I pull my phone away from my ear and check the time. It’s 7:30. I have an hour and a half until Zuko is going to pick me up, so I can just text him and let him know that I’ll just walk over to the Jasmine Dragon when I’m done with Toph. She has school today, but she doesn’t start until nine.

“Okay. Meet me in thirty?”

“Yeah. Aang is coming too, by the way. He stayed the night.”

That’s interesting. “Oh. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah.” She pauses, and I think she’s going to offer more of an explanation. “See you soon.” I guess not.

“Okay.” 

I hang up the phone and drag myself out of bed. I grab my paint pants and change into them and put on a bra. Zuko's jacket is still hanging off the back of my desk chair. _I still need to give it back,_ I think. _So I might as well wear it._

I grab it and head downstairs. 

Dad pokes his head through the kitchen doorway when he hears me thunder down the stairs.

“Where are you going so early?” Dad asks me. “I was just about to make breakfast.”

“I’m meeting Aang and Toph for breakfast at Tiffanie’s.” I duck into the bathroom and shut the door. I brush my teeth and hair quickly before I step back out into the living room. “Also, I’m going to help Zuko again today and I don’t know when I’ll be back. But you know where to find me if you need me.”

Dad appears in the doorway again, an egg-covered spatula in hand. He points it at me, and a piece of egg drops to the floor. Momo snatches it up quickly. “Not until eleven o’clock again, okay?”

“Okay.” I head for the door. 

Outside, it’s cold and gray. Fog rings the mountains and floats over the town toward the ocean, but I know by noon it will be burned off and blue sky will take its place. It’s how springs on the coast of Oregon work. 

I’m grateful I brought Zuko’s hoodie. For some reason, men’s jackets are always so much more comfortable and warmer than women’s, which is why I have half of Jet’s hoodies upstairs in my closet. 

I pull it on over my head as I start walking into town. I shrink into it, shoving my hands deep into the pocket and letting the hood fall over my head. Bamboo and teak wood fill my senses. 

On my way to Tiffanie’s, I send Zuko a text. 

K> _Hey slight change of plans. I’m meeting some friends for breakfast, so I’ll just walk over after, ok?_

I slip my phone back into my pocket. I don’t expect an immediate response, and I don’t get one. It’s not quite eight o’clock in the morning, so he might even still be sleeping. I probably could have waited to text him, but I didn’t want to accidentally forget.

When I get to Tiffanie’s, a small cafe that specializes in all-day breakfast but also serves the standard variety of lunch and dinner foods, I see Aang’s car is already in the parking lot. 

I wonder what’s going on with him and Toph. It’s not unheard of for the three of us to sleep over at each other’s house. But it’s usually the _three_ of us. Because, of course, Aang is a guy and me and Toph are girls. He’s occasionally spent the night at my house, just the two of us, but my dad is also the definition of a Cool Parent, and he’s always liked Aang, so he’s a little more lenient than Toph’s strict parents. 

_They don’t…like each other, do they_? I frown as the thought springs unbidden to mind. Surely, they wouldn’t keep something like that from me. Toph and I might be in the middle of yet another fight, but Aang would at least tell me. I hope.

Considering we were fighting about him. 

I push through the door and am greeted by the smell of coffee and pie and a gust of warm air that sends a pleasant shiver through me. I spot my friends in the corner booth where we always sit. Aang is reading the menu to Toph, and I can see a second menu and a third glass of water waiting for me.

I drag my feet as I cross the room to them. I was prepared to talk to Toph about this. But I don’t know why she has decided to bring Aang, and that makes me nervous. Anxiety curdles in my stomach, icy-hot. 

Aang looks up at me. I see him take in the unfamiliar jacket I’m wearing, and I mentally face-palm myself. _What were you thinking, wearing it here?_ I scold myself. Now I’m going to have to explain Zuko, right after we get done talking about...this.

“Hi, guys,” I say. 

I suddenly feel like an interloper, like I don’t belong in this corner booth at Tiffanie’s with my two best friends anymore.

“Hi, Katara.” A red flush is creeping up Aang’s neck.

As usual, Toph’s expression is neutral. She turns her head in my direction, her sightless eyes looking almost directly at me. It’s almost unnerving how well she can see despite being blind.

“Morning, Sugar Queen.” Even the sound of my nickname doesn’t calm my nerves. 

I sit down on the opposite side of the booth from Aang and Toph. We’ve sat like this for years, but today it feels different. My anxiety coils a little tighter in my belly. I look between the two of them, looking for a sign. Looking for _something_.

And I see it, in the purplish-blue mark poking above the collar of Aang’s sweater. 

My mouth suddenly tastes like ash and I swallow hard. I grab the glass of ice water sitting near me and I take a drink, averting my eyes from the two of them. An emotion is pulsing through me, hot and insistent, but I don’t quite know what it is. Anger? Hurt? Betrayal? I don’t know.

“I’m not going to say sorry for what I said.” Toph breaks the silence, her voice its usual biting tone. “You might not think I’m right, but I am, Katara.”

My hand grips the glass. It’s so cold against my hand that it stings, but it helps temper the fire that is burning inside of me. I came here to talk. I wasn’t expecting an ambush.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” I grit out. I stare at Aang, turning the full intensity of my gaze on him. He seems to shrink into himself. “I think I deserve that much.”

“Katara,” Aang begins. “It’s not like that, okay? Toph really wants things to be okay between the two of you.” 

“Really?” My tone is incredulous. “But you won’t say sorry.”

Toph narrows her eyes at me. “Because I’m not _wrong_ , Katara. What I said? It was the truth. And you need to accept it.”

I look between the two of them. “I’m assuming that she’s told you all about it, huh, Aang?” 

I think back over the last few weeks. At first, Aang texted me every day. Sometimes it was about the argument Toph and I got into. Other times, it wasn’t. But the texts started to slow down, until we would go days without speaking. It was starting to feel like I’d gotten into a fight with him just as much as I had Toph.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. She did.”

I close my eyes as heat rises in my cheeks. I don’t even remember how the fight started now. We had just been talking about plans for spring break, and then she had said something about Aang, and somehow it had devolved into the two of us yelling hurtful things at each other. Because she thought I wasn’t fair to Aang.

Because he’s in love with me and I refuse to acknowledge it.

And maybe Toph is right. Is it wrong of me to know how my best friend feels and not even offer him one conversation about it? Maybe. But I’ve always been afraid. The three of us, Aang, Toph, and I, we’ve always been close. My dad used to call us three peas in a pod. Sokka calls us the Unholy Trinity. And I’ve always been worried that if Aang and I confronted this thing that sits between us that it would disturb the balance of our friendship. That what we had might crumble into dust.

“I’m sorry.” I’m looking at Aang when I say it, and I can see the hurt that flashes through his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Katara.” He offers me a watery smile.

“No, it’s _not_ okay, Aang!” Toph slaps her hand on the table hard enough to rattle our glasses. She turns her head back to me and jabs an accusatory finger in my direction. “ _You_ have led Aang on for _years_ , Katara, and he’s too nice to say anything, but Aang is tired of waiting in the wings for you!”

“I never asked him to do that! I didn’t want him to do that!” I struggle to keep my voice low. I don’t want to cause a scene at Tiffanie’s. I glance over at Aang. “I never meant to do that.”

“You’ve kept him around like a puppy on a leash. Running to him when you and Jet fight, crying on his shoulder, _relying_ on him to be your boyfriend without actually _being_ your boyfriend.” 

Toph’s words lash at me like a whip and hot tears burn in my eyes. Her words aren’t true. They can’t be true. I never did that.

“No.” My voice trembles. I shake my head. “He’s my _best friend_.”

“Who cares about you a lot more than just a friend!” Toph’s mouth twists into a scowl. “And you _know_ it. You’ve known it for years.”

I look at Aang, but he’s not looking at me. He’s not looking at Toph either. He’s looking out the window, his face turned to the right, his jaw working as he struggles to contain his own words and emotions. I can see the hickey more prominently now.

“Well, what about _that_?” I demand to know, my tone sharp and accusatory as I gesture to the mark on his neck.

Aang’s hand flies up to cover it and a red blush creeps over his cheeks. 

Toph doesn’t need sight to know what I’m talking about. “Like I said, he got tired of waiting.”

I clench my hands into fists on my thighs. “So, what? Did you bring me here to gang up on me? To throw accusations in my face, just to tell me you two are together now? Is that it? ‘Cause if it is, I don’t see the point in making me feel bad about the fact that he _used_ to like me, since he’s obviously moved on now.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Aang mutters.

I stand up. “Well, it did.” The tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I scrub them away. I stuff my hands on the pocket of Zuko’s sweater. “So what, are we not friends anymore?”

“I still want to be your friend!” Aang tries to stand up, but he’s stuck between the table and the booth and Toph, and he drops back into his seat with a frustrated sigh. “Katara, you’re my best friend.”

“But I keep you around like a puppy on a leash.” My voice breaks and more tears fall. My heart is breaking too. “Is that how you really feel, Aang?”

“Maybe this wasn’t the best place to talk about this,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Toph says at the same time.

My chest shudders with my sobs and I want to curl in on myself. I want to fold myself like origami until I’m small enough to disappear. I wipe my tears away on the sleeve of Zuko’s sweater.

“Whose jacket is that?” Aang asks me. There is a note of accusation in his voice, and I can almost laugh at how _hypocritical_ that is. 

“A friend’s,” I reply tersely through my tears.

Aang’s mouth presses into a line, but Toph barks out a harsh laugh. 

“ _Another_ guy you’ve got waiting around for you?” There’s a cruelty in her voice that I have always known is there, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of it. “Wow, Katara. If you’re that unsure of your relationship with Jet, why don’t you just break up with him?”

The words fly across the air and embed in my skin like arrowheads. She cuts me with her words, and if I don’t get out of here I’m going to bleed out. But I’m not going to run without drawing some blood of my own.

“Why don’t you just mind your own damn business, Toph,” I snap. “This is _my_ life, and I don’t need you judging it, or-or acting like you know what the hell I’m doing.” I look over at Aang then, biting down on my lip so he won’t see the way it trembles. “And you! Is this what you really want? You want her getting under your skin and into your head?” I shake my head at his shocked expression. I throw my hands up. “But hey, don’t let me stop you two from being happy. If you want to be with someone who does all your talking for you and puts your so-called best friend down right in front of you, then by all means, have at it. I’m done. “

I turn on my heel and stalk out of the restaurant before I explode. 

I let my feet carry me as tears blur my vision. I don’t hear the cars on the street or the voices that ask if I’m okay, because of _course_ I can’t go anywhere in this town without running into someone I know. All I can hear is my ragged breath and the scrape of my sneakers on the sidewalk as I go.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

I wake up in a foul mood. Azula’s call kept me up, and I spent the night tossing and turning. Even the thought of seeing Katara again today can’t seem to push my conversation with my sister entirely from my mind, and it has no effect on the emotions that course through my veins.

I’m angry with Azula, and I’m angry with myself. I’m mad that Azula was able to pull my words from my lips, like a magician pulling a ribbon from a spectator's mouth. But part of me also feels relieved. Saying the words I wouldn’t quite dare to think even to myself out loud makes it feel more real. I think I’m finally ready to let Mai go.

Uncle is already awake and brewing tea in the kitchen. 

“You’re up early, even for you,” he remarks as he presses a cup of tea into my hands. “Are you that excited to see Miss Katara again?”

I scowl at him. “Katara has a boyfriend.” Surprise flashes across his face, but before he can comment on it, I press on. “Azula called me last night.”

Uncle’s face becomes a neutral mask. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my tea. It’s hot and it burns my tongue, but it grounds me. “Apparently, Mai is...I don’t know. Depressed or something.”

“Is that so?” Uncle moves into the living room and sits down on the sofa. I follow him because I know that’s what he wants. “Have you spoken with her?”

“Mai? No. She won’t answer my texts.” I huff out a breath. “Azula says she’ll have Mai call me, but Uncle—” 

I cut off, pressing the burnt tip of my tongue to the backs of my teeth. The words I spoke to my sister in a heated conversation in the middle of the night feel a lot bigger today. More _real._ More final. And I know that I’m ready to let Mai go, but saying the words out loud to Uncle makes it an inevitability, and frankly, it’s a little daunting.

“What is it?” Uncle prods me gently. I can feel his eyes watching me.

“I don’t think I want her to.” I speak the words quietly, but they’re a proclamation anyway, and they carry through the room and hang in the air like incense. 

“I see. Does Miss Katara have anything to do with this?”

“Katara has a _boyfriend_.” I scrub my hand down my face. “I should have expected that, I guess. She’s beautiful, kind, and funny.” I let out a sigh. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you are not.” Uncle rests his hand on my shoulder. “I am disappointed to hear that about Katara, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be a good friend for you.” He hesitates. “And that you can’t let things be with Mai.”

I look over at him. My heart is aching in my chest, but I’m not heartbroken over Mai. “How, Uncle? Mai has _always_ been there. For everything.”

“You treat her like a security blanket, nephew.” His eyes pierce me. “And has she _really_ been there? From what I recall, every time things get hard, she leaves”

“But she always comes back.”

“Zuko, a good woman should always stand by your side. Through the good and the bad. She wouldn’t leave you during the hard times. She would help you through it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. 

“You find comfort because she is familiar. But she has hurt you, too. The life we are building here is a chance for you to start over, to leave behind the toxicity you have dealt with your whole life. Make things right with Mai if you must for your own peace of mind, but do not run back to her because you’re afraid.”

A painful lump has risen in my throat. It’s hard to breathe around it but I can’t quite swallow it down. I’m even more surprised to find tears are stinging in my eyes, and I blink them away. His words seep into my skin and into my bloodstream. 

I think back over the years that Mai and I have dated. It started when we were sixteen, and we’ve been off and on for the last five years. Mai has never been an expressive person, at least not in words. She’s been there for _me_ , through the death of my mother and the trauma of my scar, but when it came to problems in our relationship, she always broke things off. She runs away, like Uncle said. And this time, when I was the one who was leaving, she ran away too. 

Uncle continues, oblivious to my internal storm. “Katara seems like such a lovely girl. Even if you can’t have a romantic relationship with her, you should try to forge a friendship. When was the last time you had a friend who didn’t want anything from you?”

I scoff at the question. “I can’t remember.”

“Exactly, nephew. Perhaps this girl’s friendship is what you need.” I meet his gaze. His amber eyes are soft, and they are almost begging me to listen to him. Little does he know I’m hanging onto his every word. “Sometimes, blessings disguise themselves. Perhaps that is what she is for you.”

I nod my head to show I’m still listening. I’m thinking about Katara again. 

“What will you do about Mai?” Uncle asks me.

I shrug. “That mostly depends on if she ever talks to me again.”

“And if she does?”

“Then I’ll let her get out whatever she needs to get out, and then I’ll tell her it’s over. We’re done.” When I say the words, it feels like a weight falls away. The weight of her expectations and mood swings, of her inability to talk about our feelings. It all falls away. And I’m left with a feeling I’m not sure I’ve ever known: freedom. I take a sip of my tea. It doesn’t burn this time. “And if she never talks to me again, then we both know it’s over.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I startle, wondering if somehow the universe conspires against me that much that it would choose that _exact_ moment for Mai to text me. But when I check my phone, I see it’s a text from Katara, and instead my heart skips a beat.

K> _Hey slight change of plans. I’m meeting some friends for breakfast, so I’ll just walk over after, ok?_

Dismay washes over me, and it’s stupid. It’s not like she’s canceling. She just doesn’t need a ride.

“Is that Mai?” 

I look up at Uncle. “No, it’s Katara.”

He smiles in that knowing way he has. Then he checks the time. “How do you feel about omelettes?”

I’m not really hungry, but now that I don’t have to pick up Katara, I’m not in a rush. “Sure,” I say. 

I get up with Uncle and follow him back into the kitchen. He puts his records on. Today he’s listening to Dean Martin. Together we make breakfast. We don’t say much beyond what involves breakfast, and I allow myself to get lost in thought as I slice bell peppers and shallots. 

I forget to text Katara back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara finally meets up with Zuko.

* * *

_Let me take your hand._

_And as we walk in the dimming light,_

_Oh darling, understand_

_That everything, everything ends._

_- **"Meet Me on the Equinox" by Death Cab for Cutie**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I find myself on the jetty.

I’m not really surprised that I ended up here. It’s practically a given. The sea is my safe place. I can walk out here and feel the sun on my hair and the spray in my face and smell the salt and brine, and it clears my head and helps me put things in perspective. And it’s peaceful.

I walk to the end of the jetty with tears still running in rivulets down my face and sit on the end. The sea is calm today, with gentle waves crashing against the shore. The spray doesn’t quite reach me, but I can still taste the salt. 

I’m hurt. It feels as though my best friends have turned on me. It’s not even their budding relationship that’s really getting to me. It’s the accusations Toph hurled at me, that Aang didn’t disagree with. There is no way what she said and what he didn’t deny is true.

I know that Aang has feelings for me beyond friendship. And I know that I look at him like a brother. Aang and I have never even _talked_ about this. He has only ever tried to kiss me once, and that was _years_ ago, when he was thirteen and I was almost fifteen. It was before Jet. And we never, _ever_ talked about it. 

I’ve always treated him as a friend, or so I thought. I don’t know where Toph is coming from, saying that I keep him on a leash like a dog. He’s my _friend_.

But her words still sting, and the look of betrayal on Aang’s face is burned into my mind, and my thoughts keep drifting back to the hickey on his neck. 

It’s not because it bothers me that he’s with Toph. It’s because he had the audacity to look at me like he would drop everything to be with me if I asked him to, even with said hickey displayed on his neck. How could he just sit there and let her say those things to me, like somehow _he’s_ the victim in all of this? I don’t understand what the point of any of that was. Did Toph just want to be cruel? She has a mean streak; she always has. But I have never been on the receiving end of it, and if it means I never speak to her again, I don’t want to go through it again.

Is this the end? Is our friendship over? I don’t know how we’ll ever recover from this, or if I even want to. I won’t apologize until Toph does, even though I don’t feel like there’s anything I need to be sorry for. I haven’t done anything wrong. 

Finally, my tears slow down and I dry them on the sleeves of Zuko’s sweater. I look down at my hands, my fingers barely poking out of the ends, and remember I’m supposed to help him again today. 

I check my phone for the time and find out that somehow it’s a quarter to nine, and if I don’t start walking now I’ll be late. There’s no text from Zuko, and I wonder if he forgot I was supposed to come back to help him paint. 

I peel myself off the jetty and start back toward town. I send Zuko a quick text on the way.

K: _Walking over right now. I might be a bit late. I’m sorry._

I turn down the road where the Jasmine Dragon is and my phone vibrates in my back pocket. 

Z: _Yeah, bo problem. See you when you get here._

I suddenly feel relieved and grateful that I found Zuko. I can’t quite believe it’s a coincidence that we ran into each other the other day, right before my friendship with Toph and Aang imploded like a neutron star. What are the odds of that, in my tiny little corner of the universe? 

A few minutes later I’m pulling open the door to the Jasmine Dragon. Zuko is standing there in a pair of well-worn Levi’s and an old t-shirt. He’s already got the paint set up, and he’s finished taping off the rest of the baseboards and electrical sockets. 

“Good morning,” he greets me with a smile. 

That smile is a welcome mat; I step over the threshold and breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing Zuko’s friendly smile pushes Aang and Toph from my mind, and I’m ready to sink back into whatever it is that Zuko and I are building here.

“Morning.” I cross the floor toward him. I tug at the hoodie. “I brought your hoodie back.”

His eyes take it in before they come back to my face. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. And thanks for letting me borrow it.” 

I reluctantly slip out of his hoodie. I don’t want to let it go yet, but I can’t wear it while I paint. But the smell of bamboo and teak wood lingers on my skin when I take it off.

“Don’t mention it. It was cold.” 

Zuko shrugs before he takes it from me. Our fingers touch, and it sends a current running down my arm. Our gaze meets for a brief moment, and as I feel the heat rise in my face, color peaks in Zuko’s cheeks as all. When he pulls away, I feel hollow, like a piece of me is missing. 

“Will your uncle be joining us today?” I ask when Zuko turns away to set the hoodie down. I rub my fingers where he touched me, still feeling the ghost of his skin on mine. 

“Ah, no. He had to drive into Portland to meet with some vendors to go over contracts and stuff. He won’t be back until this evening.” Zuko turns back to me, and the corner of his lips tug up into a lopsided smirk. “Is that okay?”

I bite back the sense of happiness that comes over me as I realize that means that we’ll be alone all day. 

I cock my head to the side and return the smirk. “Yeah, I think I’m okay with that.”

Zuko starts for the half-finished wall we started on last night. “How was breakfast with your friends?” 

He poses the question casually, but I can hear something more in his voice. Then it occurs to me that I just spent upwards of an hour crying, and it’s probable that it’s rather obvious by the way my face looks.

“It was fine.” I scuff the toe of my sneaker against the tile floor. “Um...can you point me to the ladies room?”

Zuko glances back at me over his shoulder as though he just noticed I’m still standing by the cluster of furniture in the middle of the room. 

“Oh.” He points to a doorway on the left side of the room. “It’s right through there, on your left.”

“Thanks.” 

I hurry into the bathroom and turn on the light. I lock the door and turn toward the mirror.

I don’t look as bad as I _thought_ I would, but my eyes are still puffy and red-rimmed, and my cheeks are a little blotchy. I quickly run cold water over my face and pat my skin dry with a paper towel. I take a few deep breaths before I go back out into the main room. Zuko has turned the music back on, and he’s already working on the part of the wall we didn’t finish. 

He looks up at me when I come back and offers me a small smile. 

“So...breakfast actually didn’t go that great with my friends.” I don’t know why, but I find myself compelled to tell him this.

His brow furrows and his lips turn down into a frown. “Is everything okay?” 

I huff out a breath as I grab my paint roller. “To be honest, not really, no. I’ve been fighting with my friend, Toph, for weeks. And then she calls me up this morning to meet up for breakfast, only to ambush me with the fact that she and our _other_ best friend are now dating.” My brow knits as I think of the hickey again. “Or something. I don’t really know what they’re doing.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says, and he sounds so sincere I look up at him, a little surprised. “Do you think you guys will make up?”

I turn my gaze back to the wall. “I’m not sure. We’ve been friends for so long, and this isn’t the first time we’ve gotten into a fight, but we’ve never fought like this.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I hope you guys make up soon. It sounds…” Zuko trails off as though he’s looking for the right word.

“Hard,” I supply with a tight smile. “It's hard.” _But at least I have you,_ I think but don’t say. “But hey, at least now my schedule is wide-open, so I can definitely help you finish this paint job.” 

Zuko smiles wryly at me. Then his expression melts into one of worry. “You only have to help out as long as you want to.”

“I know.” I shrug. “I _want_ to help.” I peek sideways at him. “But I won’t be able to help on Friday.” I try to hold back my wince. “Or probably most of next week.”

“Oh.” He swallows, and I watch the knot in his throat bob up and down. “That’s okay. I think by then we’ll have most of it done, anyway.”

I half-expect him to ask why I can’t help, but then I realize that Zuko probably finds that to be an intrusive and awkward question. 

But I decide to tell him anyway, if only because I want to set _clear_ boundaries in our delicate new friendship. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made with Aang. I like Zuko too much for that.

“My boyfriend is coming up for spring break,” I say as I spread my roller over the wall. “He’ll be here for the week before he goes back to college. When I’m not hanging out with him, I can still come by and help.”

“No, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Zuko peeks at me from the corner of his eye. I notice he’s positioned himself so his right side faces me again, and I can’t help but feel that’s intentional. “You should…spend time with him. While you can. Since he goes to school so far away and stuff.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And I don’t want to step on any toes, you know? Like, I don’t want to take you away from the time you have together.”

I raise my eyebrows. I haven't even thought about how Jet will react when he hears about my new friend. 

“Right,” I say slowly. “But I do want to make sure we get this done so you guys can open on time. If anything, I can probably recruit his assistance.” 

But as I say it, I realize that I don’t really know if I want Jet and Zuko around each other. There’s no real reason _not_ to. In fact, it’ll probably look suspicious to my boyfriend if I _don’t,_ but part of me wants to keep Zuko to myself. He’s like a special toy I don’t want to share with my friends. Then I think about what Toph said, and I wonder if she’s right and if I _do_ have a problem.

“If you want to.”

“I do.” I say it even though I don’t want to, if only because it’s the right thing to do. smile at him, and he returns it. 

“Well, if you can’t, don’t worry about it,” Zuko tells me. He cracks a grin. “I could probably finally get my uncle to help me. This _is_ his shop, after all.”

I chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

_**Z** **uko** _

* * *

We’re making good progress again. Katara and I have been painting for the last three hours. We finished up the first wall and we’ve moved onto the next. I’m up on a step ladder to paint over the windows and Katara is sitting on the floor below me painting beneath them with a brush in her hand, her long legs stretched out before her. Music plays from the speakers and I feel utterly at ease in her presence.

I’m happy that Katara is feeling better. I could tell she had been crying when she came into the Jasmine Dragon that morning, and I’m glad she felt comfortable enough to tell me a little bit about what was going on, because I definitely didn’t feel comfortable asking her. I hope she and her friends, whoever they are, can make up. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be her friend.

I’m a little less happy to learn that her boyfriend is coming into town, but what can I do? I should have expected it, honestly. Spring break is coming. _Of course_ her boyfriend is going to come and visit her. And, given what’s going on with her other friends, she deserves that peace.

But I can’t help but think back to how she reacted at Nan’s last night, when Sela brought Katara’s boyfriend up. There was something in her eyes, something guarded and hesitant. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t help but wonder if things aren’t exactly perfect between them. 

“What do you say we take a lunch break?”

Her voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I glance down at her. She’s looking up at me with her big blue eyes, and she’s so stunning there with the sunlight filtering in through the window, bathing her in gold, that it feels like my heart actually stops beating for a moment.

I swallow hard and blink stupidly. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Are you hungry?” _Of course she is, you idiot, or else she wouldn’t have suggested a lunch break._ My own stupidity never ceases to amaze me.

Katara giggles, and I feel my cheeks burn. “Yeah, I’m a little hungry,” she says. 

I make my way off of the ladder. “Now that you mention it, me too.” 

When I reach the ground I extend my hand to her without thinking about it. Her eyes flicker between my hand and my face for a moment, before she settles her hand in mine and I gently pull her to her feet. Her hand is small, delicate, and I wonder if I’ll crush it if I squeeze her too hard. And then she’s on her feet, and I let her go, and she brushes off the seat of her paint-splattered jeans. 

“I was thinking we could get some sandwiches from Shyu’s, and maybe get started on the business page,” Katara says. 

“Yeah, ok.” I nod in agreement and set my roller down. “We can do that. Did you want to walk, or…?”

“We can drive,” Katara answers. “I want to get as much work done as we can, especially since I might be a flake all next week.” She grins at me. “I don’t want to leave you to do it all by yourself.”

I put my hand over my heart in teasing gratitude. “What would I ever do without you?”

She gives me a teasing smile. “Suffer through your uncle being an even bigger flake than I am.”

I can’t help but laugh a little bit, because she’s definitely not wrong. 

Then Katara reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face, and her thumb swipes against her cheek, leaving a streak of green paint on her caramel skin.

“Oh, you got a little paint—” I gesture to my own face, and Katara looks down at her hand, where there are more smears of green paint.

“I swear, I can never paint without getting at least _some_ on me.” 

Katara shakes her head with a laugh. She takes the hem of her t-shirt in her hand and bends down slightly to wipe the paint away, and I catch the sight of her stomach above the waistband of her jeans, smooth and tan. The sight of that sends a shiver right through me. 

Katara looks up at me. There’s still some paint on her skin. “Alright, did I get it all?” 

The corner of my lips pull up. “Almost. Here—may I?” 

Katara’s eyes widen, but she nods. I bring my hand up to her cheek and use my thumb to clear the last bit of paint from her skin. The movement is gentle, but not so slow as to be considered a caress. I _want_ to be gentle, not rough, but I want to make sure I get it all. 

Her skin is soft, and I’m close enough that I can smell vanilla and cherry blossoms. When I pull my hand away, her skin is clear. I wipe my thumb across my pants and leave behind a streak of green.

Katara gestures to the mark in my jeans. Color has risen in her cheeks, and she’s clearly a bit embarrassed, but I think she looks adorable. 

“Soon you’ll look like me.” She gestures to her paint-smeared clothes again. Then her eyes return to mine. “So, lunch?”

I almost forgot as I stood there staring at her. It’s my turn to look a little embarrassed. 

“Right. Yeah. Just uh, let me lock up.” I start for the door but I point my finger at her. “And don’t you dare say anything about me being a city boy. There’s thousands of dollars of equipment in here, and my uncle would literally kill me if it got stolen.”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “No, no, you should lock up. I would be very sad if your uncle killed you.” She flashes her grin at me. 

I roll my eyes but when I turn to the door to throw the lock, I can’t help but smile a little bit. Something about her words, what they mean, makes me feel warm inside. 

I wonder how long I can keep on being just her friend before I want more. I would never want to put her in a situation where she has to question her loyalty, but I know that at the rate I’m going, this girl is going to have me falling for her harder than I’ve ever fallen before.

I’m both excited and terrified.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara spend some time getting the shop ready, and later, Zuko discovers something about Katara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this hasn't been updated in like, two weeks. Life is crazy and I'm currently juggling 4 WIPs...and my beta roped me into participating in "Zutara Big Bang" (if you don't know what that is, check it out on Tumblr and Insta!) so I've been busy with that. Trying to get a decent schedule together, so bear with me <3

* * *

_You lie awake at night_

_With blue eyes that never cry._

_All you remember now is what you feel._

_Sad like a lonely child,_

_Broken the day you're born._

_I held the light to you, but I was so vain._

_- **"Feel the Silence" by the Goo Goo Dolls**_

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

We get our sandwiches from Shyu’s, and as I’m about to start the car, Katara stops me with a hand on my forearm.

“Hey, do you think we can stop by my house first?” she asks.

I look over at her. “Uh, sure. Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing my camera.” She fidgets with her hands as though she’s a little embarrassed. “If we’re going to set up the business page, we should probably get a good picture of the storefront for the cover photo. What do you think?”

I give her a half-smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Her responding smile is small and one of relief. I turn the engine over and drive toward Katara’s house. 

“I can grab my laptop too, so we can get the picture edited and uploaded to Facebook for the business page.”

I glance over at her. “I have a laptop.”

She offers me another smile. “I have photo editing software on mine. Photography is sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Okay,” I say. 

  
  


When I pull up to her house—an old church, of all things—there’s an older Ford truck parked in the gravel.

“My dad’s home. That’s weird.” She looks over at me. Her brow is furrowed, and there’s a little wrinkle in her skin between them. “He should be at work.”

I frown. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“I don't know.” She rests her hand on the door handle, her brow knitting. “I’ll be right back.”

Katara gets out of the car and heads to the front door. I watch her disappear inside. I stay in the car, breathing in the smell of warm bread that makes my stomach rumble and wait for Katara to reappear. 

She does, nearly fifteen minutes later (not that I’m keeping track or anything), with a backpack slung over one shoulder. There is a man following behind her that can only be Katara’s dad.

My mouth goes dry and I swallow hard. Know it is the unspoken rule of men to introduce myself, I unbuckle my seat belt and step out of the car, turning to face them as they approach me.

“My dad wanted to meet you.” Katara gives me a small smile. Her eyes seem to say _I’m sorry, I tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn’t listen._ She glances back at her father over her shoulder. “Dad, this is Zuko.”

“Of course,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I feel. “It’s no problem.”

Her father sizes me up while I try not to fidget nervously. _He’s not my father,_ I remind myself. _He just wants to see the guy who’s been hanging around his daughter._

Katara looks a lot like him. The eyes are the same shape and color, and their hair is a matching shade of chocolate brown. Their skin is the same warm caramel color. Her father stands a head and shoulders taller than Katara, and at least an inch taller than me. 

He steps past Katara and offers me his hand. “I’m Hakoda. It’s nice to meet you.” His voice isn’t as deep as I imagined it would be for a man of his size, but it still holds a calm, commanding authority that I admire.

I shake his hand and I’m suddenly grateful for the hours I spent practicing my handshake with Uncle after my father picked it apart and called me weak. Hakoda has a strong grip, and I want to show him that I’m not weak. That I’m good enough to be friends with his daughter. How a handshake equates to that, I don’t know, but somehow it feels like it does.

“Likewise, sir.”

Hakoda releases my hand and lets out a laugh. “Oh no, don’t give me any of that _sir_ crap. It makes me feel old. Just call me Hakoda.”

Relief floods through me. Hakoda seems to be nothing like my father and it puts me at ease. 

“Yes, si—Hakoda.” 

He chuckles. His eyes comb over me again, hesitating for just a moment on my scar. “Katara tells me you and your uncle are opening a tea shop. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah.” I resist the urge to rub the back of my neck. “We’re hoping to open the first week of April. We’ll miss the spring break rush, but what can we say. The old owner left quite a bit of work for us to do.” I shrug.

Hakoda nods as though he’s digesting that. “Yeah, old Zei let it get out of hand. But I wouldn’t worry too much. The big crowds don’t come until summer anyway. Most of the spring break folks are whale watchers. Summer is where you’ll get most of your business.” He smirks. “And I hear you’ve recruited my daughter to help get you set up.”

Heat rises in my cheeks and my eyes slide over to Katara. She senses my discomfort and digs an elbow into her dad’s ribs as she rolls her eyes. 

“Hey, _I_ offered my help,” she tells him. Her eyes fall on me. “And we’ve got more work to do, so we should probably get going. Right, Zuko?”

“Right,” I say. 

Hakoda looks between the two of us before his gaze settles on me again. “Alright. Don’t have her out too late, okay?”

I bob my head. “Yes, s—Hakoda.” This time I don’t resist the urge to rub the back of my neck. “Sorry about last night. Time got away from us.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hakoda smiles at me. I search it for traces of malice, and don’t find any. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He points his finger at me, but he’s still smiling a bit. It’s not a _real_ threat, at least not one with any actual consequences. And he’s still smiling when he says it.

Katara rolls her eyes. “Come on, Dad.” She gives me an apologetic smile, but I shrug again. 

“Fine, fine.” He holds his hands up peaceably. Hakoda looks at me again. “Hey, did Katara invite you to our barbecue?”

I glance over at Katara. “Uh, no.”

Hakoda arches a brow at her, and she shrugs sheepishly. “It never came up.”

“Well, consider this an invitation then, Zuko.” Hakoda offers me another smile. “We barbecue every spring break. We invite just about the whole town. It’s a whole big thing. Bring your uncle, too.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you.”

“It’s next Saturday, at the end of the break.” Hakoda offers me his hand again, and I shake it. “It was good to meet you. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

Hakoda goes back into the house, but before I can ask Katara what that was all about, she’s already climbing back into my car. I get back in as well and look over at her.

“Sorry about that,” she says as she buckles up. “I didn’t mean for my dad to bombard you out of nowhere.”

“What? It’s fine.” I look at her. “He seems nice.”

“He is,” Katara says. Then she lets out a sigh. “But he does this thing where he gets really overprotective. Which is why he insisted on coming out to meet you when I told him you were here, which is a little ridiculous, since I’m an adult perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” She huffs out another breath before she meets my gaze. “And you don’t have to go to the barbecue if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind. Who doesn’t love some good barbecue?” I give her a reassuring smile. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to offend him.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to...” She trails off, and when she looks up at me I can see it in her eyes that she wants me to go.

“It’s no big deal. Besides, it sounds like a good time. And once my uncle hears about it he’ll want to go. He’ll consider it a perfect opportunity for advertising the Jasmine Dragon.”

I crack a smile, and Katara giggles, honest-to-spirits _giggles,_ and I think I’d do anything she asks me to just to hear that sound again.

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

We get back to the Jasmine Dragon and Zuko clears off a table and two chairs for us to eat at. I sit down in the chair he pulls out for me and dig out my laptop. Zuko disappears into the kitchen and comes back with two glass bottles of Coke in his hands before he sits down beside me. 

“Thank you,” I tell him. I boot up my laptop. “What’s the WiFi password?”

Zuko gives it to me as he pulls our sandwiches out of the bag, and I open up Facebook and log out of my account. I push my laptop toward him.

“Go ahead and sign in so we can start the business page,” I say as I reach for my sandwich. Since my breakfast meeting with Toph and Aang went sour and I didn’t actually get to eat, I’m starving. “Have you ever made one before?”

“No, but it’s pretty self-explanatory, right?” Zuko looks up at me.

“Yeah, it is.”

I watch his pale fingers dance across my keyboard and I can’t help but observe that he doesn’t even look at the keyboard as he types. When he pushes the laptop back to me, he’s already got the starting page for a business page set up. I adjust the laptop so we can both see it. 

“We’ll need to get the cover photo, but we can do that when we’re done eating,” I say. “So for now let’s just fill out the information.”

We eat while Zuko adds the business name, type, address, and phone number. He sets up the hours and the opening day: April 4th. While he works, I’m thinking.

When we stopped by my house, Dad had asked me how breakfast with Aang and Toph went. I didn’t want to get into it right then, so I had hedged an answer and then told him Zuko was waiting outside for me. Dad’s demeanor had shifted at that point, and he had insisted on coming out to meet him. I had tried to talk him out of it, but Dad and I are the same: once we have our minds set on something, we’re not easily deterred. 

The introduction didn’t go as horribly as I’d worried it would—and really, why would it? It’s not like Zuko is a boyfriend I’m bringing home to meet my father—and I’m not even that upset he invited Zuko to our barbecue instead of me. I had wanted to, but I’d been hesitant because Jet will be there. But it seems that Dad solved that problem for me.

Maybe it won’t be so bad, especially since Toph and Aang won’t be there now. I’m not looking forward to having _that_ conversation with my father, though. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it all.”

Zuko’s voice breaks me from my thoughts and I look over at the laptop. The page is up and all of the info has been added. I glance over at him and see he’s looking at me expectantly, as if he’s waiting for my approval.

“It looks great.” I smile. “Now we just need that cover photo.”

We’re done eating, so while Zuko clears away our trash I get out my camera and turn it on. I get up from the table and drift around the room, snapping a few pictures of the work Zuko and I have done.

“What are those for?”

“You want to post frequently,” I say. “So that the page pops up on people’s newsfeeds. So, I’m getting some pictures for your first post.”

“Oh.” I look over at Zuko. He’s watching me take the pictures. 

“Also, you can pay Facebook to run ads for it. I’ve never had to do it for Dad’s page, but we also know the whole town, so it was pretty easy to invite everyone to like it.” I walk back to Zuko, feeling my heart rate speed up. “If you add me on Facebook, I’ll invite my friends to like it.”

I catch the way his eyes widen fractionally, just for a moment, before he nods. “Yeah, okay.” He goes back to the computer and taps at the keyboard for a moment. Then he looks over his shoulder at me with a timid smile. “Done.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to share your post on my dad’s page, and the page that supports local businesses too, so everyone can see it.”

The corner of his lips turn up in a smile. “Thanks.”

We go outside to take the cover photo. It’s a good day to take one. As I predicted, the fog has burned off and the clear blue sky and sunshine smiles down on us. It illuminates the red brick face of the building and the gold lettering on the emerald-green canopy over the front of the building which states the business’s name. 

I step back to the edge of the sidewalk and bring my camera up to my face. I focus the frame so I only get the Jasmine Dragon in it. Our reflections are visible in the plate glass window, but with a little photoshop magic, I’ll be able to get rid of it. 

I snap several photos, adjusting the frame ever so slightly so we can choose the best one, and then Zuko and I go back inside. I connect my camera to my laptop and open up the gallery to transfer the photos. Zuko sits beside me, close enough his arm brushes mine as he leans in to look at the pictures I took. I can smell his cologne and I try not to breathe it in too deeply. It smells just like his hoodie, and it’s intoxicating.

“I’m going to use photoshop to get rid of our reflections,” I tell him. “But let’s go ahead and pick the best picture first.”

Zuko and I spend a few minutes studying the photos I’ve taken. They’re all basically the same, but we veto them based on minor details: a car driving past in two of them, a few more being slightly out of focus. We pick one, and I boot up Photoshop. My last project loads and suddenly Aang and Toph are filling the screen, laughing at something Toph said. We were at Tiffanie’s having breakfast a month ago. How did things change so drastically so quickly?

I save the project and close it. I peek over at Zuko. He’d seen it.

“That’s Aang and Toph,” I mutter as I open the new image. 

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry that you guys are fighting.”

I shrug as I start to work on the picture. “It’s okay. We’ll get over it. We always do.” But honestly, I’m not so sure we will. 

“How long have you guys been friends?” Zuko asks as he stands up. He crosses the room to where we were last painting.

“I’ve known Aang since kindergarten. Toph moved here in the sixth grade.” 

I begin to erase the reflection in the window. The image is blurred, but I can see me standing there with my camera blocking my face. When I look at Zuko, prominent in his faded Levi’s and red t-shirt, I’m surprised to see he’s not looking up at the storefront. He’s looking at me. It’s hard to see his exact expression, but there’s _something_ there, in his blurry face, and before I realize I’m doing it, I’m saving a copy of the untouched photo. 

My eyes flicker to Zuko. His back is to me as he paints smooth strokes on the wall. I can see just a sliver of the right side of his face, and I see his brow is furrowed in concentration. I watch the muscles of his arm shift beneath his creamy skin as he paints, and his jeans aren’t bad on the eyes either. 

Where did he come from? What path led him here, to this tiny, inconsequential town on the coast from the jungle of Seattle? How did he get the scar that marks nearly half of his face? Who is he? I don’t have answers for these questions, but I want them. 

“That’s a long time,” Zuko remarks. He glances over his shoulder at me and I see the corner of his lips turn up. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but if you guys have been friends for that long, I bet you’ll make up sooner or later.”

“Thanks.” 

I return the smile, and Zuko goes back to his work. I return to mine, but my gaze drifts back to him. Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab my camera, turn it on, put it on silent, and line up the shot. I snap the photo. It’s a good shot: the early-afternoon light is starting to filter in through the window, highlighting Zuko in shades of gold. He’s perfectly accented against the sun ray’s, and it’s a great candid shot. 

When I look at the picture on the tiny display screen, I’m amazed by how perfect the shot came out. He’s beautiful.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

I take Katara home around 6 pm. We finished the second wall and got the cover photo updated on the Facebook page. She had even designed a quick profile picture of the logo Uncle had settled on. Uncle got home a little after 5 pm, and he offered for Katara to stay for dinner. She politely declined and said she needed to get home to make dinner for her father, at which point we call it a night. We clean up and get into my car, and then I drive her home.

I pull onto the gravel in front of her house and put the car in park. Once again, I find myself reluctant to let her go. And while I’m trying to come up with a way to keep her for just a few more minutes, she speaks up.

“Same time tomorrow?” I look up and find her eyes on me, her lips curved into a friendly smile that tugs at my heart. 

I smile back. “Yeah, that works for me. Do you...want me to come pick you up?”

Katara nods, and a lock of hair that has slipped out of her bun falls against her cheek. She reaches up and tucks it into place behind her ear. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Katara says. She opens the door, and a cool breeze that smells like the sea blows through the car. I smell her too, either her soap or perfume, the luscious scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms. “Good night, Zuko.” 

“Good night, Katara.”

I watch her walk up to her front door. She’s framed in the yellow porch light and the dying glow of the sun. I admire the curve of her hips for a brief moment before I drag my eyes down to the gearshift and shift into reverse. I glance back up at her one more time to see her hesitating in the doorway. 

When I catch her eye, she smiles again, and I swear, she is so beautiful bathed in the golden light that my heart actually stops for a moment. She’s celestial. I smile back, and then she disappears inside. I back out onto the road and head home, the ghost of her smile echoing in my brain. I’m in more trouble than I thought.

I pull up into the alley and park behind Uncle’s Corolla. I go upstairs and into the loft. The smell of chicken and vegetables hits me, and when I poke my head into the kitchen I find that he’s making chicken stir fry. 

“Did you get Miss Katara home safely?” Uncle asks when he sees that I’m back.

I head into the living room and flop onto the couch, tired from another day of painting. “Yeah, I did. I met her dad today.”

Uncle looks over at me, eyebrows raised. “Oh? How did that go?”

“Hakoda seems nice. He invited both of us to his barbecue next weekend. He and Katara told me half the town will be there.”

“Oh, that’s good! What a perfect opportunity to advertise.”

I roll my eyes and snort out a laugh. I’ll have to tell Katara that I totally called it tomorrow. 

I pull out my phone and check my notifications. I see one from Facebook: _Katara Kuruk has accepted your friend request._ Curiously, I open the app and click on the notification. I only got the briefest look at her profile that afternoon, and I want to look a little more.

Her profile picture is a selfie. I can tell she’s standing on the beach, and the sunlight catches the water behind her. Her hair is down and blowing in the breeze, and she’s smiling. Her cover photo is a sunset. It’s beautiful, with streaks of pink, orange, and purple staining the underbellies of yellow-tinged clouds. I wonder if she took that photo herself. 

I scroll down her timeline. She seems to mostly post cute memes of little cartoon animals, but she shares a lot of posts from a page called Hakoda’s Boat Repair & Maintenance. She posts photos of more sunsets and sunrises, close-ups of dew-soaked grass and frosted flowers. There’s also pictures of her friends, Toph and Aang, curled up in what might be her living room watching a movie, or out to eat at Nan’s or a restaurant called Tiffanie’s. The address is here in town. 

When I scroll back to December, I see her posts from Christmas. Decorating the tree, frosting sugar cookies, a picture of her dad and a young man who looks just like Katara sitting on a couch and opening their presents. A little further down, I finally see him. Her boyfriend.

He’s a little scruffy looking, with shaggy brown hair, arched eyebrows and a charming smile. He’s got his arms around her and he’s pressing a kiss to her cheek. _You’re the best gift I could have asked for,_ her caption reads. _Merry Christmas._ He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him. There’s no way I should know him, but I can’t shake the feeling that I do, from _somewhere_. 

I keep scrolling. I make it to Thanksgiving. She’s taken a picture of a dinner table covered in a white cloth, with a feast laid out on it. I recognize Hakoda and the young man who must be her brother. There’s an old woman too, with the same blue eyes, who might be her grandmother. There’s also an older man with stern eyes. The boyfriend isn't there this time.

I scroll some more. I make it to Halloween. She’s at a party, one with neon lights and everyone in Halloween costumes. She’s dressed up like Alice from _Alice in Wonderland,_ but the dress is shorter and falls to the middle of her thighs. She’s with Aang, Toph, and her brother. Aang, who’s dressed up as a pirate, has his arm around her waist while her brother has his arm draped across her shoulders. Toph is there, dressed like a vampire with fake blood running down her chin, with Aang’s over arm around her, her face turned just slightly off-center from the camera. For the first time I realize that the girl is blind. 

I scroll back further, to the end of summer. There’s two pictures of Katara and her boyfriend on the green lawn of U of O. She’s wearing a tiny pair of shorts, sandals, and a white blouse, and my eyes comb over the expanse of tanned legs before I focus on the rest of the picture. In the first photo, they’re kissing. In the second, they’re both looking at the camera. The caption reads, _I’m going to miss this cutie! Go Ducks!_

I click on the picture and zoom in on his face. It’s driving me nuts that I can’t place this guy. He’s tagged in the photo, so I jump over to his profile, but there’s not much there. He’s got a gym selfie for a profile picture and his cover photo is the picture of him and Katara from Christmas. Since I’m not his friend, I can only see when he updates his profile and cover photos, which he apparently only does once a year. 

I go back to Katara’s profile and scroll back through her summer. I expected more posts, but for some reason, there’s barely anything. She shares updates from her dad’s boat shop and a few pictures of sunsets and landscapes, and a handful of memes. 

From June, there is a graduation photo. She’s wearing a maroon robe with a silver sash and holding her diploma. Her dad, brother, and the old lady and old man from Thanksgiving are standing with her. Everyone is smiling, but there’s a tightness in the sets of their mouths, and their eyes are drawn and tired. I notice that Katara’s right arm is in a blue cast, poking out from the sleeve of her graduation robe. I wonder what happened, and I continue to scroll.

When I get to May, I’m confronted with a headstone. The name reads _Kya M. Kuruk, beloved wife and mother. Forever in our hearts. 02-04-1983—03-19-2019._ There are two hundred reactions and over three hundred comments on the post. Katara has captioned it, _Mom’s headstone was set today. I miss you more every day._

Suddenly I feel cold as I count the days in my head. That’s why Katara won’t be able to paint with me on Friday. It’s the one-year anniversary of her mother’s death. 

I swallow hard and set my phone down. I’m thinking about my own mother. About how it felt to stand at her graveside and read her name etched into a marble headstone, feeling empty and broken and like things would never be okay again.

And really, things haven’t been okay since.

“Zuko?”

I jerk my head, startled out of my thoughts. “Yeah?”

Uncle frowns. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I just…Katara’s mom died. Almost a year ago. I didn’t know that.”

“Then that’s something the two of you have in common.” Uncle turns back to the stove. “When did she tell you?”

“She uh...she hasn’t, actually. I just saw it on her Facebook.”

“I see. Well, she will when she’s ready, nephew. You know how it feels, and how difficult it can be to talk about.” 

I do. I know the burning ache of a dead mother. That emptiness inside you where your mother used to be, to soothe your fears and encourage your dreams. To have questions on the tip of your tongue, but she isn’t there to answer them anymore. All of the things you want to tell her, the experiences you want to share, but when you look beside you, all that’s left is a ghost. 

But I can’t help but think that Katara is more fortunate than I am. I can tell from her profile, from this window into her life, that Katara has a loving and supportive family. She has her father and brother, and the elderly woman I think is her grandmother. All I had—all I _have_ —is Uncle. 

But now maybe I have Katara too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara spends some time with Hakoda, who tries to reach out to his distant daughter. Meanwhile, Zuko struggles with the demons of his past, and finds himself looking at what may be his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of Ursa's death, car crash, implied parental abuse.

* * *

_I was only walking through your neighborhood._

_Saw your light on, honey, in the cold I stood._

_Anywhere I go, there you are._

_Anywhere I go, there you are._

_- **"The Fire and the Flood" by Vance Joy**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

When I go inside, I can hear Dad in the kitchen. He’s got the radio on, and John Mellencamp is playing. His gravelly voice is singing along to _Ain’t Even Done with the Night._ I haven’t heard him singing in a long while.

I move quietly through the living room, soaking up the sound. I close my eyes, and I can picture how it was before: him and Mom slow-dancing in the kitchen while they cook dinner, stolen kisses and loving looks. 

Without Mom here, this house feels so empty.

I lean against the doorframe. Dad is at the counter, slicing into a loaf of French bread. I can smell the acidic tang of tomato sauce and I know that he’s made spaghetti. My dad is no gourmet chef, but his cooking tastes like home.

“I’m back,” I say, and he turns around with a smile.

“Hey, snow pea. Did you have fun painting with Zuko?”

_So, he’s on a first-name basis already,_ I think with a wry smile. He had referred to Jet as _your boyfriend_ until we had been together for a year. 

“Yeah, it was great.” I move into the kitchen and snag the heel of the bread off of the cutting board.

Dad bats my hand away. “Not until dinner, young lady!”

“Aw, come on.” I take a bite and grin. 

Dad can’t help but smile at me. “Well, it's almost done anyway. Help me set the table.”

I set the bread down and grab plates and silverware from the cupboard and drawer and set two spots at the table. I grab the bag of salad and the dressing out of the fridge and Dad pours himself a glass of wine. After a moment’s pause, he pours one for me too. 

“You only get one glass,” he tells me, using his very serious I’m-your-father-and-I-mean -it voice. 

“Okay.”

He brings them over to the table and we sit down. We load our plates and start to eat, the only sounds are the clinks of our silverware on the plates and Fleetwood Mac on the radio. 

Then Dad wipes his mouth on his napkin and looks up at me. “I’m sorry about your fight with Toph and Aang. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shrug and push a meatball around on my plate. “It’s whatever. I’m sure we’ll make up.”

“Still. I’m sorry, Katara. They’re your best friends.” He takes a sip of his wine. “Though maybe it's a good thing you’ve made a new friend.”

I look up at him, a little surprised. “You really think that?”

Dad smiles at me sheepishly. “I don’t know the kid that well, but he seems alright. He has a good handshake.”

I snort. “He’s not exactly a _kid._ He’s a year older than Sokka.”

“Hey now, did you not hear me? I said I like him. Don’t ruin it.”

“Don’t forget I have a boyfriend,” I remind him, and Dad’s expression sours for a moment. “But I’m glad you like Zuko. I like him too.”

“And he’s coming to the barbecue?”

“Yeah. Him and his uncle.”

“Good.” Dad frowns thoughtfully. “How much do you know about them?”

I shrug. “Not much. They’re from Seattle.”

“Are you _trying_ to make me dislike this guy?” Dad makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat but the corners of his lips are turned up. “City people.”

“Oh, whatever.” I roll my eyes but I’m smiling too. I take a sip of my wine, enjoying the warm flavor on my tongue. 

“Still. I’m just saying, maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.” Dad shrugs. 

I don’t quite know what to say to that, so I just shrug and say, “Maybe you will.”

Dad and I enjoy the rest of our meal. When we’re done, I start in on the dishes and he comes to help me despite my protests. So we do the dishes in companionable silence. When we’re done, we go into the living room. Dad turns on the tv and I grab my book, and we just exist together for a while. 

We’ve been sitting like that for an hour when Dad breaks the silence. 

“Yugoda called me.” 

I look up from my book. “What?”

“That’s how I knew something happened with you and your friends.” Dad peeks over at me. “Yugoda called me after you left Tiffanie’s and told me you were upset after you met up with Aang and Toph. That’s why I came home early. I almost went by the tea shop, but I thought I’d see if you came home first. But you didn’t, until you came by with Zuko.”

I exhale irately through my nose. I’m not mad at Dad. But I’m mad at this town, at these nosy people who always call my dad when they think I’m up to something I shouldn’t be. Like Bushi at Nan’s, and now Yugoda at Tiffanie’s. It’s always been this way, since Sokka and I were kids. We could never get away with anything, because some busybody would always call our parents. I _know_ that for the most part, they mean well. Yugoda certainly does. But that doesn’t ease my irritation. 

“Oh.” I swallow hard. “I’m okay, Dad. Really.”

But when he looks at me, I know he sees right through me. He doesn’t push it though. “Okay, snow pea. Just know I’m here to talk if you want to.”

“I know, Dad.” I close my book and stand up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay.”

I head for the stairs to get some clean pajamas. Dad’s voice stops me when I’m on the bottom step.

“Katara.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I go up to my room after my shower. It’s chilly up there, and I find myself missing the warmth of Zuko’s hoodie. 

I climb into bed and check my phone. I remember that I accepted his friend request earlier, so I type in his name and click on Zuko’s profile. 

* * *

His profile picture is a selfie with a black and white filter. His body is facing the camera, but his head is turned to the right so his scar doesn’t show, and he’s wearing dark sunglasses. He’s not smiling, but he’s still handsome. His cover photo is a city skyline at night. I recognize the Space Needle in Seattle, and I wonder if he took the picture himself.

I snoop through his profile, though I don’t think it’s _really_ snooping since we’re now friends. There’s not much. He doesn’t post often, but as I scroll I notice he gets tagged in posts a lot. A girl named Ty Lee Chang tags him in funny memes. Another girl, Mai Soto, tags him in posts about relationships. But his relationship status says single, and Mai hasn’t tagged him in a post in three weeks. I wonder what _that’s_ about.

I click on her profile. Her profile is private so I can only see it when she’s changed her profile and cover photo, but I scroll. Two weeks ago, she changed her picture. She’s pretty, with slanted eyes and high cheekbones. Her bangs fall into her amber eyes, and she wears dark markup. When I scroll back a little further, I see when she updated her profile picture from a selfie of her and Zuko. He’s kissing her cheek, the right side of his face turned toward the camera. Mai is smiling. 

From what I can tell, she rarely smiles.

I think about what he told me that first night we painted together. _No. No girlfriend._ I don’t think he’s lying, because her profile says her relationship status is single too. Maybe they broke up right before he moved, or right after. Either way, I have no right to feel some type of way about it. Zuko doesn’t owe me anything. 

I back out of Mai’s profile and back to Zuko’s. I search for the Jasmine Dragon Facebook page and like it. Then I share it. Then I invite everyone on my friend’s list to like it. And then I forget Aang and Toph are on there, and now they’re going to get that notification, too. 

Curiosity burns me, and I go to Aang’s profile. He hasn’t unfriended me, and his relationship status hasn’t changed. He’s been posting links to animal rights articles and sharing memes all day. I go to Toph’s profile. _She_ has unfriended me, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

Tears well up in my eyes. In all of our fights, we have _never_ deleted each other off of social media. Maybe this _is_ the end of our friendship. 

I shove down my emotions as I exit out of her profile and go back to the Jasmine Dragon’s business page. My cover photo looks beautiful. Zuko has made one post, announcing the opening date. He’s included some of the photos I took of our progress. I like and share it. 

I think about the picture I took of him earlier. I get out of bed and retrieve my laptop from my backpack and set it on my desk. I get out my camera, and once my laptop is booted up, I connect them. Then I open up the picture of Zuko. It’s a great shot, even unaltered. I open Photoshop and add a few touch ups to it. Then I open Facebook and attach it to a message and send it to him, adding afterward, _I took this earlier. It might make a nice post for the business page?_

Then I close down my laptop and get back in bed. Zuko might be asleep already, so I don’t know when he’ll see the message. I reach for my book again, but then my phone starts to vibrate. It’s an incoming phone call. When I check the caller ID, it’s a FaceTime video from Jet. I answer it.

“Hey.” I smile at him. 

“Hey, babe.” 

He’s laying down in the dark in his dorm room. His face is lit up by the phone screen. He’s got one hand tucked behind his head and his charming smirk on his face, and it reminds me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Except that look isn’t doing what it normally does to my heart, and I’m not sure what that means.

“What’s up?” he asks me.

I shrug. “Just getting ready for bed. How are you? How are your classes?”

“Easy, now that most of my midterms are out of the way.” His teeth flash in a smile. “And spring break is almost here. I’ll be there in just a couple of days.”

“I know. I can’t wait.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

Jet’s face grows serious. “I gotta tell you something.”

I frown. That doesn’t sound good. “What is it?”

“Aang messaged me earlier.”

I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth. What could Aang have possibly said to him? 

I play it off casually. “Yeah? What did he want?”

Jet’s expression is a neutral mask. “He says you and Toph got into a fight. A big one. He said I should check on you.” He scowls. “Not that I need him to remind me to check up on my girlfriend or anything.”

I rub my hand across my face. “Yeah, we did get into a fight. I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Jet looks sympathetic. “But you know what? Sometimes you just outgrow people.”

I frown. Is that what this is? Have I just outgrown Toph? I don’t know if that makes me feel any better. 

“I guess so.” 

I chew my bottom lip. I wonder if Aang told Jet about Zuko. I hope he didn’t. _I_ should be the one to tell him, even though Zuko is just a friend. But I think about how I showed up to Tiffanie’s in Zuko’s sweater, and told Aang and Toph as much, without any context. It could easily be misconstrued. Toph’s accusation of having another guy waiting in the wings prickles on my skin. I decide I’ll tell Jet about Zuko when he gets here.

“Hey, don’t let it get you down, okay?” Jet’s voice is gentle. “It was kind of insensitive of her to pull this crap so close to the anniversary, but just don’t worry about her, alright? If that’s how she wants to be, then let her.”

I nod. Jet’s right. It _was_ insensitive of Toph to do this _now_ , days before the date that marks one year since my life came unraveled. I need my best friends, and now they’re not here. I have to face this alone. It’s more than just insensitive. It’s cruel. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.” Jet stifles a yawn behind his hand. “But I’m pretty tired, and you look worn out too. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I disconnect the call and hold my phone in my hand. Hot tears well up in my eyes and before I know it, they’re streaming down my cheeks again. I curl up on my side and muffle my sobs in my pillow so Dad can’t hear me. 

I’m not just crying over Toph and Aang. I’m crying for myself, and for my mom.

This past year has been the hardest of my life. No one likes to think about their parents dying, but when you do, you always think of it as some abstract, faraway thing. You never expect it to happen when you’re barely eighteen. And you definitely never expect for it to happen right before your eyes. 

I used to have nightmares about the crash. And in those first few weeks after, the images would pop into my head unbidden, intrusive and abrasive. I could see the blood and my mom’s wide-open eyes staring at me. I could hear my screams. 

I push those thoughts away now. The last thing I want is to conjure a nightmare tonight.

My phone vibrates, and I lift my head off of the pillow, scrubbing the tears from my cheeks. It’s a message from Zuko.

Z> _You took that earlier?_

My heart startles. I can’t tell if he likes it or not. Maybe I made a mistake taking that picture. I love candid shots, but I’m sure not everyone likes having their picture taken without knowing about it. Guilt washes over me and I message him back.

K> _Yeah. You don’t have to post it if you don’t want to._

Z> _No it’s a good picture. I’ll post it._

I smile, just a tiny smile. I can’t help but feel a little happy that he likes it, and it makes me happier to know he’s going to post it. 

K > _I’m glad you like it. See you tomorrow._

Z> _Goodnight._

I plug in my phone, turn off the bedside lamp, and settle into my pillows. Soon I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

After dinner, I go and do the dishes while Uncle settles in at his card table to work on his puzzle. It’s almost done now, and I can see the image it’s supposed to be: a blue-scaled dragon flying between mountain peaks. It’s a beautiful puzzle. I still know exactly what piece Katara pieced together, too: part of the underbelly of a purple-tinged cloud, much like the cover photo on her Facebook profile. 

When I’m done with the dishes, I find that I’m filled with a nervous sort of energy. I feel jittery, like I’ve drank too much caffeine, but I know it’s because of what I’ve found out about Katara. It has me thinking of things from my own past, things I try hard not to think about.

The walls of the loft feel like they’re closing in on me, and I need to get out of here. 

I go into my room and change into a pair of shorts. I trade my Vans for my Nikes and grab my headphones off my dresser before I go back out into the living room. Uncle looks up at me.

“I’m going for a run,” I say.

“Be safe,” he says.

I snort. “Yeah, okay.”

I step out onto the porch. I plug in my headphones and shuffle my running playlist. I take a moment to stretch, and then I jog down the stairs and hit the pavement at a run, heading for the street.

I ran track my freshmen and sophomore years of high school. I was good at it, too. I always finished in the top three, no matter what race I ran in. It was something I loved. I was passionate about it. I’d even entertained the thought of pursuing it in college on top of my business degree, and maybe even trying to compete in the Olympics.

But like so many other things, those dreams were shattered and dashed across the canvas of my life; shards of glass and hopes that could never be. I can thank my father for that. 

My mother had encouraged me to run. She encouraged all of my dreams, and Azula’s too, no matter how small or unlikely. It’s always been my father who had to taint our aspirations with his pragmatism and disapproval. My running wasn’t going to benefit the company. Azula’s drawing wasn’t, either.

So after Mom died, I quit. Well, it was more like my father refused to pay for it and he threatened to cut off my trust fund if I didn’t give it up. Without my mother there to stand up for me, I caved.

The joke is on me, because nearly six years later, I don’t have my trust fund anymore. I don’t have _anything_. And I’m still running.

Anger flares in me as I run, and my shoes smack the pavement harder as I put on a fresh burst of speed, arms pumping and sweat gathering at my temples and dripping down my back despite the chill in the night air. I’m still so _angry_ at the sheer injustice of it all. This is not how my life was supposed to be.

I’m not supposed to be here in this tiny town, painting the walls of a tea shop with a girl I met by happenstance, driving a fifteen-year-old car and sitting on an almost-completed business degree. I’m supposed to be in Seattle, getting ready to receive my bachelor’s and earn my seat at my father’s table. I’m supposed to be behind the wheel of the Challenger my father bought me when I graduated from high school, with Mai by my side. 

All of that... _all_ of that...was taken from me. Simply because I spoke out of turn.

If my mother were alive, none of it would have happened. She would have defended me, the way Uncle tried to. But maybe it would have worked for her. Despite the problems in their relationship, my father respected my mother above all things. There’s a chance he would have listened to her.

But she isn’t here, and that’s his fault, too. 

I don’t remember much of the crash, but I remember enough. He was driving, Mom was in the passenger seat, and I was sitting behind him. If I had been behind Mom, I probably would have died too. 

He was driving, and they were arguing about my track. My father was getting worked up—I have my mother’s eyes and my father’s temper—and Mom was too, but her voice was a low cadence as she defended me like she always did. My father’s voice was rising into a crescendo. The louder he got, the faster the car went. 

I saw the red light. I opened my mouth, the words— _Dad, slow down_ —on the tip of my tongue, but it was too late. A truck going too fast went through the intersection and collided with our car, right on the passenger side where my mother was sitting.

The rest of it is a blur. The witnesses said that our car rolled six times. All I know is that I woke up feeling like my face was on fire, and quickly realized that’s because it was.

My father walked away with bruises and scratches. I walked away with half of my face burned off. My mother didn’t walk away at all.

And now my lungs are burning, and I taper off my speed until I’m jogging. I realize I’ve been running without paying attention to where I was going. But I recognize the street I’m on. It’s Katara’s street. Her house is right there at the end. The lights are on in the living room. It looks warm and inviting in a way my home never has.

My subconscious has carried me here. It’s like it’s trying to tell me something. Maybe Uncle is right. We do have this in common, this pain that is unique. Only people who have experienced this kind of loss can relate to it.

I don’t believe in fate, or destiny, or anything like that. But as I stand there, chest heaving, blood thundering in my veins, and stare up at the house that holds this beautiful, amazing girl with ocean eyes and a smile as warm as the sun, I think that maybe I’m supposed to be here after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the one year anniversary of her mother's death, and Katara tries to work through her grief. Meanwhile, Zuko finds himself missing her while working with Uncle at the tea shop, and he realizes that he's starting to get feelings for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: death, car accident, grief. Non-graphic description of a fatal car crash.

_It comes and goes in waves._

_It always does._

_We watch as our young hearts fade_

_Into the flood._

_- **"Waves" by Dean Lewis**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I pull up outside of the cemetery and put the car in park. I sit with the engine idling for several minutes as I stare blankly out over the sea of headstones and maple trees that dot the green lawn. 

Then I turn off the engine and step out into the gray morning, grabbing the bouquet of lily-of-the-valleys and marigolds that I had bought from the florist before coming here. Those were always Mom’s favorites. 

The clouds hang low in the sky and the smell of rain fills my nose. It had rained last night, not a lot, but enough to dampen everything and leave moisture in the air. 

I go in through the wrought-iron gate and follow the cement path through the heart of the cemetery. I’ve only been here once since Mom died, but the location of her final resting place is burned into my memory, and I find it easily enough.

A gray slab of carved stone does not do justice for the person my mother was. She was kindness. She was warmth. She was pancakes on Sunday mornings, picking seashells on the beach, road trip snacks and love and laughter and  _ life _ .

She should be here. She shouldn’t be in a metal urn in the ground. 

I pull out my phone and FaceTime my brother. He answers, looking somber. His eyes are red-rimmed and I can tell he’s been crying too. 

“I’m here,” I say. 

Sokka nods. His jaw works like he’s trying to speak, but he can’t. 

I turn the camera around and show him Mom’s headstone. I kneel down in the damp grass, ignoring the way it seeps into the knees of my jeans. I tuck the bouquet into the little holder beside the headstone. 

For a little while, Sokka and I just sit there with our mom without saying anything.

Then Sokka speaks. “I can’t believe it’s been a year. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“I know.” My voice is trembling.

“How are you feeling about it?”

If I was looking into the camera, looking at his face, I probably wouldn’t be able to answer honestly. But he can’t see me, so I do.

“Sad,” I say. “Really sad.” 

The words are inadequate for the storm I feel inside, but if I say anymore the tears will flow and I don’t know if they will ever stop.

They say time heals, but really, it doesn’t. Grief is a bottomless ocean. When the loss first happens, you’re pulled into the undertow and you’re drowning. But somehow as time passes, you find your way to the surface and you gulp oxygen greedily. But then the water crashes over you again, and you’re drowning once more. Grief comes and goes like the tides. Sometimes it’s all you can feel; sometimes it’s gently lapping at your ankles. But it’s always there.

“Me too.” Sokka’s voice is thick with unshed tears. “I wish I could be there.”

“You’ll be here in a few days.” I’m whispering. Tears prick my eyes. 

He lets out a shaky breath. “I know, but today is the  _ day.  _ I should be there for it.”

“You have midterms. It’s okay.” I sniffle. “Mom would understand. Dad and I do. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I’m trying not to.”

We talk for a little while. We rehash old memories and share our favorite stories. We laugh and we cry as we talk about our mother. It’s painful, but also cathartic. And when it’s over, I don’t know if I feel better or worse.

After twenty minutes, Sokka has to go to class, so we disconnect the call. Then I get up and make my way back to my car as the waves crash over me. I guess I feel worse.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

It feels strange to paint without Katara. She has been here every day for nearly a week, and I feel her absence heavily.

We’ve finished the main room and I’ve moved on to the kitchen. Katara and I will probably finish it in a few days, and then all that will be left is the bathroom. I’ll probably finish that next week while her boyfriend is here. 

I’m trying not to think about that.

Uncle shuffles into the kitchen after his fifth tea break in the last four hours. I’m trying not to let it get under my skin. Uncle is  _ old _ , and definitely not in the best shape. I try to remember that he can’t do as much as me or Katara can. 

“How’s it going in here?” Uncle asks as he makes his way back to the section of wall he’s been painting all day. 

“It would be going a lot faster if you weren’t taking so many breaks.” I mutter the words before I can stop them, but Uncle just smiles kindly at me. 

“I’m not the young man I used to be, nephew,” he says.

I huff out a breath. 

“Perhaps  _ you _ need a tea break, Zuko. You seem very stressed.”

“I’m  _ not _ .” But the tone of my voice says otherwise.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Where do I begin? Katara’s boyfriend is coming down for a week in two days and I don’t know how much I’ll see her. Azula hasn’t made good on her promise to have Mai call me and I’m not sure what to make of it. And I’m thinking about how today marks the death of Katara’s mother and I want nothing more than to tell her that I know what it feels like and to tell her about my own mom.

Instead, I say, “I just want to get this done. We’re supposed to open in a little under two weeks, and we still have to set everything up.”

“Zuko, you’re a bad liar.” I narrow my eyes at him, but Uncle just shakes his head as he chuckles. “Is it Miss Katara? Are you worried about her?”

“Of course I am!” I snap. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “And it’s  _ stupid _ , because I barely know her.”

“It’s not stupid. She is quickly becoming a good friend. Of course you are worried about her.” Uncle’s expression softens. “And you’re also worried because you know what she is going through. You want to help her, and you feel helpless because you’re not sure how.”

Sometimes I hate my uncle’s uncanny ability to just  _ know _ what’s wrong with me. This is one of those times.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I just don’t want to overstep. She doesn’t know that I know about her mom, and I don’t want to weird her out.”

“Then perhaps you should simply be a good friend and just reach out to her,” Uncle says. “Give her an opportunity to open up to you.”

I look up at him in surprise. Why didn’t I think of that? There’s no harm in sending her a simple text. 

“Uncle, that’s genius.”

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome, nephew. Why don’t you go take a break and send her a text? Or whatever it is you kids do these days.”

I set my roller down and go out into the main room. I sit down in a chair and pull up my phone. I open up my texts. It’s easy to find Katara. She’s the only person I’ve texted in days. I click on her name and then my thumb hovers over the digital keyboard. I have  _ no _ idea what to say. I get up and hurry back to the kitchen. Uncle is painting and humming under his breath. 

“What do I say?” I ask him.

Uncle looks up at me, surprised. “You don’t know what to say to her?”

I shake my head as heat burns in my cheeks. Never in my life did I see myself going to Uncle of all people on tips for how to talk to girls. I half-expect him to laugh at me, but he doesn’t. Of course not.

“It just has to be simple. Something like, ‘hello, I just want to see how you are doing’.”

I roll my eyes. I would never say that to her. But I look down at the phone in my hand, and it comes to me. 

I glance up at Uncle. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, nephew.”

I go back to my seat. I take a deep breath, and type out the message to Katara.

Z> _ Hey, I hope everything is OK. I miss having you here to help me out. Uncle has decided not to be a flake today, but he’s not as much fun to paint with as you.  _

I send the text message before I lose my nerve and change my mind. I hope she doesn’t take it as flirting. I’ve watched my words with her carefully ever since I learned about her boyfriend. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about me. 

I sit there for a few minutes before it dawns on me that she might not text me back right away, and there’s still work to do. With a sigh I stand up and slide my phone into my pocket, but not before I thumb on the volume. I want to make sure I hear it if she texts me back.

I go back into the kitchen and grab my roller. My stomach is doing nervous little flips, and I try to push it back. It’s stupid. It’s just a text.

“Did you figure out what you wanted to say?”

I nod. “I did. Now hopefully she texts me back.”

“I’m sure she will, Zuko.”

_ I hope so _ , I think. I wish I could see her, but I know how hard this day is. The anniversary never seems to get any easier, either. Mom’s was a few months ago, right before everything in my life went wrong, and even though it’s been five years I still broke down. 

My thoughts drift back to Katara. It’s easy to imagine her here in this kitchen with me, a paint roller in her hand with her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. She looks good in her paint-splattered jeans and t-shirt, way better than I ever could have imagined anyone would. 

And she’s so easy to be around. I don’t feel like I have to put up a front or pretend to be someone that I’m not. She makes me trip over my own words and makes my head spin like I’m drunk, but with her, I can be  _ me _ . 

She doesn’t recoil from my scar. 

We have passed hours in these rooms, talking about everything and nothing, it seems. Sure, we’re still just getting to know each other, but everything between us feels so natural. We’re settling around each other. She’s beautiful, inside and out. I can’t believe I feel so intensely about someone I’ve barely known for two weeks, but I do. I can’t explain it.

All I know is that I am hopelessly falling for this girl, and she doesn’t even know it.

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

Instead of heading towards home, I take the 101 towards Wheeler. 

My heart settles like a ball of lead in my chest and my fingers tremble against the steering wheel. It’s there, halfway between Wheeler and Brighton, that my mother’s ghost truly resides. 

I’m on auto-pilot as I follow the familiar curves that trace Nehalem Bay. The trees are a green blur and all I see is the open road. 

I slow down as I draw near that sharp corner. I pull my car off on the shoulder of the road and cut the engine. I sit in the silence and stare at the powder-blue cross that sits under the canopy of evergreen trees. 

People have been by recently. There’s fresh flowers and ribbons and even a teddy bear or two. That warms the icy stone that is my heart. People still care about my mother. People remember her.

Dad has been on the phone nearly all day as friends and family call to check in on us. He’s taken every call in stride, but I can see the strain in his tired eyes. I know he’d love to take the phone off the hook, like he did those first few days after the accident when the phone wouldn’t quit ringing.

I’ve gotten texts and messages from friends and family. I even got one from Aang.  _ I’m sorry about your mom. If you need to talk, I’m here.  _ I deleted it without responding. Jet called me that morning between classes. It was a short call, and his responses were measured and cautious. When we got off the phone, I cried.

I haven’t heard from Zuko, but he doesn’t  _ know _ . I don’t hold it against him. 

I exhale slowly and open the door. The damp earth and pine needles are springy underfoot as I cross the distance from my car to the cross. The knees of my jeans are still damp and stained green from the cemetery. I kneel down in front of my mother’s cross. A tear slips down my face. 

“Hey, Mom.” 

My voice shakes. There’s a painful lump in my throat and I try to swallow it down. There’s a photo of her, sealed in plastic to protect it from the rain. She’s smiling and she looks so beautiful and  _ alive _ that it hurts. 

“I uh, I miss you.”

The breeze picks up and tousles my hair and chills the tears on my cheek. I close my eyes and imagine that she’s right there beside me.

“I miss you so much. I can’t believe it’s been a year. That doesn’t seem possible.” I sniffle as more tears start to fall. With them, words fall from me too. “So much has changed, Mom.  _ I’ve  _ changed. Dad, too. He drinks too much, but I can’t tell him to stop. He misses you so much. I know that’s why. And Sokka…he’s thrown himself into his studies. He tried to put on a brave face for me, for Dad, but I can tell he’s hurting. And  _ I’m  _ hurting. So much.” 

I bow my head and my tears fall onto the backs of my hands. My shoulders shake as I give into my tears.

This isn’t  _ fair _ . My mother should be here. She should be alive. It’s not right. She had so much life left to live. She didn’t get to see me graduate from high school. She won’t see Sokka finish college. She’ll never meet her grandchildren. How can fate be so cruel as to take that away from us? From  _ her _ ? 

I think back to that night. It had been raining, much like it had last night. Mom and I were on our way to pick up Chinese food for dinner. It was about 7 pm, and dark out. Mom was driving carefully as she always did, but it wasn’t enough. The deer came out of nowhere, caught in the headlights. Mom slammed on the brakes and we hydroplaned on the wet road. The car spun and spun and spun before it crashed into a tree. I remember the sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal; the horn blaring as the airbags deployed. Most clearly though, I remember my mother dead beside me. 

I broke my arm and fractured my hip in the crash. Thanks to physical therapy, I was able to walk at my graduation two months later. My family was there. Dad, Sokka, Gran-Gran. Even Pakku, Gran-Gran’s grumpy boyfriend. Jet was there too. But the person I wanted the most wasn’t. 

After a while my tears slow down and I stop shaking from the sobs. When I’ve composed myself enough I lift my head and wipe my face on the sleeves of my windbreaker. I wish I had Zuko’s hoodie. 

“I made a new friend,” I say to the cross. I smile as though I’m really talking to her. “His name is Zuko. I think you’d like him.” I let out a small chuckle. “Dad seems to, and you know how  _ he _ is. Zuko’s very sweet, and he’s  _ so _ kind. I don’t know him well, but I know that much.” I twist my fingers together. “I think maybe he came into my life for a reason. Toph and I aren’t friends anymore, and I don’t really know what’s going on with Aang. And I’m pretty upset about it. Heartbroken, really. But Zuko...it's been nice having him around. I wish you could meet him.”

I fall into silence. I can hear the birds chirping in the trees and the sound of the waves lapping against the cliffs. The smell of rain clings to the air, but beneath it I can smell the sweet decay of leaves in the loam. And of course, there is the ever-present smell of sea salt.

In my back pocket, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and check the screen, expecting another message of condolences. To my surprise, it’s a text from Zuko. Despite my melancholy, I can’t help but smile.

Z> _ Hey, I hope everything is OK. I miss having you here to help me out. Uncle has decided not to be a flake today, but he’s not as much fun to paint with as you. _

I look up at the cross again. A small brown teddy bear is looking back at me. Tears well up in my eyes again, and I don’t know if they’re sad or happy, or maybe some cocktail of the two.

“Yeah, Mom,” I whisper. “I really think you’d like him.”

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

The day seems to drag on with an agonizing slowness. It seems like time is dragging its feet, and each time I look at the clock I can’t believe so few minutes have passed. It probably doesn’t help that my irritation is mounting with each tea break Uncle takes and every moment that goes by without a text from Katara. But I’m not mad that she hasn’t texted me back.

Uncle has given up on any form of communication with me. My tone is clipped and snappish, and I feel a little guilty for it. But mostly I don’t. I’m wound tight with restless energy again, and it’s not enough to take it out in cream-colored paint on these walls. 

I feel like I did when I was a child, when I would do something wrong and I would be waiting for my father to come home and dole out my punishment. He was always a big believer in “spare the rod, spoil the child” and I lived my childhood in perpetual fear of him. This feeling in the pit of my gut reminds me of that.

Of course, it just boils down to anxiety. It’s just a matter of being worried about Katara and worrying because she hasn’t texted me back. I want to know that she’s doing okay. I  _ need  _ to know, like I need air to breathe.

And that fact scares me. I barely know this girl. I shouldn’t feel this strongly about her. It’s irrational.

The bell above the door chimes and I startle, like a deer, nearly dropping my paint roller in the process. I turn back toward the doorway that leads into the main room, but of course I can’t see anything from where I stand.

But then I hear her voice, and my anxiety falls away like smoke on the breeze.

“Hi, Iroh. Is Zuko here?” Her voice is a melody.

“Hello, Miss Katara! I didn’t think we would be seeing you today. Yes, Zuko is painting in the kitchen. Go on back.”

I hear her soft footsteps on the tile. My heart has picked up its pace in my chest. 

Katara steps through the doorway. Seeing her is like the beginning of spring after a long winter. She’s got her hands stuffed into the pockets of her windbreaker and the knees of her jeans are stained with grass and mud. Her hair is loose and falls to her waist. 

It’s the first time I’ve seen her hair down, and I didn’t know that she could possibly be any more beautiful, but she is. Her eyes are bright kaleidoscopes. Her skin is pallid beneath the warm caramel tone, and there are shadows beneath her eyes. 

She gives me a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hi!” I put my paint roller down and step closer. A smile splits my face. “I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

Katara reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes skim the room, taking in the work Uncle and I have done. Then they fall back on me. 

“What can I say? I couldn’t stay away.” A blush rises in her cheeks. “It looks like you and your uncle have gotten a lot done.”

I snort. “More like  _ I’ve  _ gotten a lot done and  _ he’s  _ drunk a lot of tea.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I came back.”

I settle my gaze on her. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

For a moment neither of us says anything. The atmosphere is like a held breath. I want to tell her that I know about her mom, and that I know what it’s like. But that feels intrusive. I think about Uncle’s words, that she'll tell me when she’s ready. I just need to be patient.

“Did you want my help?” 

Katara smiles at me, and there’s hope in that look. I understand it. This is a day of pain, and she's looking for a distraction. 

I open my mouth to answer but at that moment Uncle appears in the doorway. We both look over at him. 

“I think we can call it a day, nephew,” he says. “I don’t know about you, but I am  _ tired _ .”

“Katara and I were about to—” 

“I think we  _ all  _ deserve a day off.” Uncle gives me a pointed look, and I press my mouth into a thin line. “Why don’t the two of you go do something  _ fun _ ?” 

I look at Katara. Her brow is slightly furrowed as she glances between Uncle and I. I want to shake him. Could he make it any more obvious that we know? 

I choose my words carefully. “Do...you want to?” I look at her in a way that I hope tells her that I’m fine with whatever she wants to do. 

Her hand comes up to brush her hair back again, but it’s already tucked behind her ear and I think it’s just a reflex. She peers up at me from beneath her eyelashes. 

“Um.” Katara’s eyes widen. “Yeah. We can take a break. If you think we can.”

“Of course we can,” Uncle says cheerfully. He waves us off. “You two get out of here. I’ll get this cleaned up.” 

But instead of moving to clean up the paint supplies, he shuffles back into the main room.

I rub the back of my neck. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She steps deeper into the room and closer to me. “I don’t know what you want to do, though.”

“Whatever you want to do.” I shrug. “I’m new around here. What do you do for fun?”

Katara drums her fingers against her thighs as she thinks. “Well...there’s some really nice trails, if you like hiking. I was going to go on some over spring break with Aang…” She trails off.

I’ve never hiked a day in my life, but it’s what she wants to do, so I’ll do it. I’ll put the stars in the sky if she asks me to. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Katara bond over their shared trauma while on their hike. They share a moment that will bond them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of death, car accidents, disfiguration, and implied parental abuse.

_Be my friend, hold me._

_Wrap me up, enfold me._

_I am small, and needy._

_Warm me up and breathe me._

_- **"Breathe Me" by Sia**_

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

“Yeah. Sure. A hike.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel. I look down at my sneakers. “Um, I don’t have hiking boots or anything.”

“Of course you don’t. City boy.” Katara snorts, but she’s smirking and I can tell that she’s just teasing. “Okay, I’ll take you on a beginner’s trail. No boots needed.”

I have to admit I’m a little relieved. I’m in good shape, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t find a way to embarrass myself. 

Katara gives me a sheepish look. Her cheeks are stained pink. “So...I drove here. We can take my car, if you want.”

I quirk my brow at her. I’ve been driving or walking her home for a week, and she’s had a car this whole time? I’m a little surprised. And maybe if I didn’t like her so much, I’d be miffed too. But I can’t get upset at her, especially not when she’s looking up at me with her wide blue eyes and chastened smile.

“I didn’t know you had a car,” I drawl. I have to tease her about it, just a little bit. I’m sure there’s a reason that she hasn’t mentioned it.

“I don’t drive it very much.” She releases a breath. “And I didn’t mean to mooch rides off of you.”

I give her a crooked smile. “I didn’t mind.” And that’s the truth.

We go out into the main room. Uncle has made himself suspiciously scarce, so I lock up behind me. Out in front of the tea shop is a black Volkswagen Jetta that has seen better days. The paint is worn and peeling, and there’s a dent in the back bumper and a crack along the windshield. 

“It was my brother’s before it was mine,” Katara explains as she heads over to the driver’s door and unlocks it. “The summer before he started college, he worked at the grocery store to save up enough to buy a new car. A 2003 Mustang GT.” I see her roll her eyes over the roof of the car. “He wanted something  _ cool _ for college.”

I snort out a laugh as she unlocks my door with the button on the driver’s side. Then I open the door and fold myself into the seat. 

Katara watches me with amusement. My knees are practically in the dashboard. 

“You can move the seat back,” she tells me with a grin. “Toph is the one who usually sits upfront, and she’s barely five feet tall.”

I reach for the lever under the seat and slide back until I have room to breathe before I reach for my seatbelt. 

“Yeah, I think I’m a little taller than that.”

Katara chuckles as she snaps her seatbelt into place and starts the car. She shifts gears and lets off the clutch, and we roll forward. She reaches over and turns on the radio. A pop song comes on and she thumbs the dial until the music is little more than background noise.

“I hate driving without the radio on,” she murmurs. 

“It’s fine,” I say, and she gives me a grateful look. After a few minutes of silence, I speak. “So, where is this beginner’s trail of yours?”

“It’s in Nehalem State Park. About twenty minutes from here.” Her eyes flicker over to me. “There’s a lot of hiking trails there. I’ve been on most of them. But this one is one of my favorites.”

“Why?”

Her eyes are back on the road, but I can see her smile. “It has this really pretty waterfall at the end that goes right out into the ocean.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

She looks over at me, and I can’t believe how happy she looks. I smile at her, and she simply beams. That look does funny things to my heart. 

We don’t say much as she drives. There’s a certain air of melancholy around her. It shrouds her like a fog. I want to reach out and touch her, maybe take her hand and tell her that I understand. But I don’t. Instead we ride in silence with nothing but the radio to break it. 

She pulls off the highway and into an empty gravel lot surrounded by a thick forest. I can see the trailhead clearly marked. Katara parks the car and kills the engine, and when she looks over at me, I suddenly remember that I’m sitting on her right side and my scar is prominently on display. But she doesn’t stare at it. She looks at me unflinchingly, and except for the stiffness of the scar tissue and the permanent squint through which I see the world, I can almost forget it exists. 

“It’s about an hour long hike,” Katara tells me. The corner of her lips quirk up. “Do you think you can manage that?” 

She's still joking, and I imagine that she’s trying to cheer herself up.

I smirk back at her. “If I can’t, will you carry me back?”

Katara laughs and the sound fills the car and seeps into my skin. “I’ll drag you out by your ankles.”

“Fair enough.”

We step out of the car. The gray clouds hang low and threaten more rain, but according to the forecast it isn’t supposed to rain until later on tonight. I hope it doesn’t rain. I don’t want this to be cut short. 

Katara leads the way down the trail. It’s clearly marked and the path is clear, so it’s easy-going. Katara obviously knows it well. I follow her, craning my neck to look up at the evergreens above us. We walk for fifteen minutes before she speaks.

“My mom died a year ago today.” 

Her voice is so soft that the surrounding forest swallows it up. I’m so shocked that I nearly stop walking, and only manage to trip over my own two feet and barely stay upright. She glances back over at me, and I can see the hurt in her eyes. She looks like a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry.” I swallow hard. “That’s rough.” 

My words are stupid and inadequate and I curse my ineptitude. But I don’t want to jump in with my own tale of sorrow. I want Katara to get this off of her chest first.

But Katara just nods slowly. “It was a car crash. I was with her.”

I feel cold. It’s like she’s telling a story from my own life. 

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “It’s...not easy.”

She glances back at me again, and I can see the questions in her eyes. I didn’t mean to bring it up, but now I have and I feel like I should tell her. I swallow hard. 

“My mom died in a car crash too,” I say in a low voice. “Five years ago.”

I see the shock register across her face, and this time Katara stops walking. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I guess we both know what that’s like, then.”

I nod slowly. 

She releases a breath. I can see the tears shining in her eyes. “It’s just not fair, is it? To have them taken from us so suddenly. So  _ abruptly _ .” Katara shakes her head. “After she died, our cat, Momo, would sit in the window by the door just waiting for her to come home. He did that for weeks, until he finally realized she wasn’t coming back.” 

“It  _ isn’t _ fair,” I murmur in agreement. “And it sucks. Losing a parent…it’s got to be one of the hardest things a person has to go through.”

Katara nods her head. “Yeah, it is.” She looks up at me. I can see the tremble in her lips. She’s trying not to cry. “Does it ever get easier?”

I look away. “Sort of. But not really.” 

But I’m not a very good judge of that. Katara has all of these people that look out for her. I just have Uncle. I don’t think I’m the best person to ask that sort of question. But I try to give her an answer. 

“It’s like...with time, it just gets easier to live with it. The loss. You still miss them, but it’s not as...painful? It still hurts, but it’s not so  _ there _ , in your face, anymore.”

Katara nods her head slowly as she absorbs my words. “It comes and goes in waves,” she says softly.

I breathe out a sigh of relief that she understands what I’m struggling to say. “Exactly. It’s just like that.”

She starts walking, slower this time. Her hands are in the pockets of her windbreaker. I follow her. The breeze picks up, and under the brine I can smell vanilla and cherry blossoms. 

“Did you go visit her grave?” I ask gently. 

“Yeah. That’s why I couldn’t...that’s why I didn’t come paint today. I went to her grave, and to the accident site.” She sniffles. “I haven’t been back there since it happened. But I felt like I needed to. A headstone isn’t  _ her _ . But that place...where she died. I felt close to her there.”

I nod in understanding. It took me years to drive back through the intersection where my mom died. But for me, I always feel closest to my mother standing on the shores of Puget Sound. Or when I’m running. 

Katara goes on. “But when I was done, I didn’t know what else to do. I know I should probably be at home with my dad, but sometimes being in that house...spirits, she’s everywhere there. I needed to get away.”

I reach out for her, but I drop my hand back to my side. “I know how that feels.” 

And I do. Even though my dad had scrubbed all traces of her from our apartment in a matter of weeks, my mother’s ghost still walked the halls. It still does.

“Sometimes you just want to forget, you know?” I shrug. “At least I do.”

“Me too,” Katara says. “Just for a little while.”

We keep walking.

“Thank you, for texting me.” Katara’s eyes flicker to me. “When I saw your text, I just wanted to…” She trails off, and her mouth twists like she’s struggling to find the words. “I wanted to see you,” she says at last. 

My heart skips a beat in my chest and suddenly my legs feel like jelly.  _ It doesn’t mean anything,  _ I tell myself.  _ It doesn’t mean what you think it means. She has a boyfriend.  _

“This last week has been so nice,” Katara goes on, apparently oblivious to my thoughts. “Everyone in this town knows what happened. And they all treat me like I’m this fragile thing that’s going to break if they say or do the wrong thing. But being with you...it wasn’t like that. I felt like me again.”

“I’m glad I helped you feel that way,” I murmur. My tongue feels thick in my mouth and I swallow hard. “Me too. I felt that way too.”

She looks up at me again. Curiosity is burning in her eyes. I want to sate it.

“I told you about how my uncle is more like a dad to me than my own dad,” I find myself saying. Anxiety courses through my veins. “That’s why I’m here. My dad. We...got into a pretty bad fight. So I left.” I exhale. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s the most I’ve told someone who isn’t involved in the situation. Who doesn’t know what my father is like. “My whole life has gone to hell in the last few months, and I’ve just been so angry about all of it. But being around you...it’s helped.”

Katara smiles. There are still questions in her eyes, but she doesn’t pry and I’m grateful for it. I don’t know how much more I can stand to say. 

“Then I’m glad I met you. I’m glad you saw me out in the rain and decided to give me a ride home.”

“I’m glad I bumped into you, literally.” I crack a grin, and she giggles. “You’re the best thing in this whole town.”

The words slip out before I even know I’m going to say them, and I hear her breath catch in her throat as my own lungs stop functioning. Her step falters, but she recovers gracefully. I barely hear the words that come out of her. 

“No, you are.”

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

And just like that, everything shifts between Zuko and I.

I can feel it, as subtle as a breeze caressing my cheeks. At the same time, it’s as prominent as an earthquake. 

The space between us has grown smaller. We’re building a bridge between this trauma we share, and soon we will meet in the middle. I don’t know what will happen when we get there, but all I know is that I am both excited and terrified. 

I can’t say for sure what compelled me to share my pain with him. It must have been something in his eyes. When you have been touched by grief, you can see it in other people. Sad people know another sad person when they see one.

And Zuko  _ is  _ sad, beneath his awkwardness and aloofness. He’s angry too, but most of all, he’s hurting. I’m hurting, too.

I want to hold him in my arms and ask what happened. Who hurt him. And maybe someday soon, I’ll be able to. We’re closing the gap. We’re rushing headlong toward each other, toward something new and frightening and exhilarating all at once. I’ve never felt this way before. 

His words echo in my brain.  _ You’re the best thing in this town.  _ It’s a compliment, probably the best one I’ve ever received. It fills my heart with warmth. And I know he meant it. I saw it in the way color rose in his cheeks and his eyes widened after he spoke the words. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he did. 

I’m glad he did. And I meant my words too.

“I was there too.”

His voice is quiet and forlorn. It’s muffled by the forest around us. These trees will hold our secrets. 

I look up at him. His eyes are trained on the ground in front of him. He’s positioned himself on my right, so that I can’t see his scar, but I can see the furrow in his brow and the hard set of his jaw. 

“It was the three of us,” he says just as quietly. “Me, my mom...and my dad.” I see the knot in his throat rise and fall as he swallows. “It’s his fault she’s dead.”

The words are jarring, but Zuko doesn’t say any more. I want to know the story, but I can’t bring myself to ask. It’s rude. He’ll share it if he wants to. Just like he didn’t pry about my unavailability today, I won’t pry into his trauma.

I take a steadying breath. “I’m sorry, Zuko.” 

Before I lose my nerve, I reach out and capture his hand. His skin is warm and I can feel the quiet strength in the palm of his hand. I only mean to give him a reassuring squeeze, but once I have him, I don’t want to let him go. 

His eyes dart down to our hands and then up to my face. I can see the storm in his eyes. But he doesn’t let me go either. He looks back at the trail in front of us.

“He ran a red light going way too fast,” he tells me, his voice a subdued murmur. “She...it was over quickly for her. Instant.”

I think of a candle snuffed out. The fire dies immediately, but the smell of sulfur lingers in the air. The death of a loved one is a lot like that. They’re gone so fast...but traces of them remain.

“That’s how I got this.” He gestures his free hand at his scar. “The doctors did what they could, but faces are hard to heal from burns. Even with grafts. I’m lucky I walked away with my eyesight.” He lets out a derisive, bitter sound. 

“That’s awful.” I squeeze his hand. I feel him squeeze mine back. 

“You have no idea.” There’s no malice in his tone, just sadness. “All anyone sees when they look at me is this scar. I hate it.” 

“I don’t,” I say quietly.

He looks down at me. A smile ghosts over his lips. “I know you don’t.”

* * *

**_Zuko_ **

* * *

We reach the end of the trail. I hear the thundering cacophony of a waterfall long before we see it, but when we break through the trees, I’m captivated by the sight.

The sheer cliff face rises steeply on one side of the clearing, jutting out diagonally and rising a hundred feet above where Katara and I stand. The waterfall pours down the cliffside and into the sea below. 

“Oh wow,” I manage to say.

Katara smirks up at me. “I told you it was gorgeous, city boy.” She’s still holding my hand. 

“You were so right.” I pull her along with me as I drift to the rails that line the perimeter of the drop-off, my eyes never leaving the waterfall. “This is incredible.”

She lets go of me to rest against the railing. My hand feels empty without hers in it, but I lean against the rail beside her, our shoulders touching. 

For a few minutes we stand there, watching the cascading water. Down below, it meets the sea in a churning maelstrom of foam at the base of the cliff. Mist from the waterfall floats onto our skin and dampens our clothes. The wind is strong here, buffeting my hair and chilling my cheeks. When I look down at Katara, her hair is billowing around her and she looks utterly beautiful. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I say. “This is definitely better than painting the shop.”

She smiles up at me. “Agreed.” I’m pleasantly surprised when she rests her head on my shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me. And...for being here.”

“Same to you,” I murmur. 

“It’s hard to talk about that stuff with my mom,” Katara says sadly. “With other people, they don’t really want to  _ hear  _ it, you know? It makes people uncomfortable.”

I nod my head. “Yeah, it does. Death makes people weird. They just want to express their condolences and move on.”

“Exactly. But it’s good to talk about it, right? It’s healthy.”

“I guess so.” 

I frown. I’ve never really thought about it. I don’t really talk to anyone about my mom. I’ve never felt comfortable enough to talk to my father about her. Azula keeps her emotions bottled up inside. I’ve never even seen her shed a tear for our mother. Mai thought the best way to talk about it was to  _ not  _ talk about it by climbing into bed with me. All Ty Lee could talk about it was auras. And Uncle? I could talk to him. I  _ have  _ talked to him. But somehow, it never felt as right as it does to talk about it with Katara. Maybe that’s because none of them know this pain quite like Katara does.

“I don’t wish this pain on anyone, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad I can share this with you.”

I look at her, but Katara is staring out at the sea. “Me too.”

She pulls away to look at me now. Her eyes are oceans: deep and unfathomable. I turn towards her, resting one elbow on the salt-crusted rail. Electricity sizzles in the air between us. It crackles across my skin and settles in the pit of my stomach. Her lips are slightly parted, full and pink, and I can just imagine how soft they are. Her eyes are searching my face like she’s studying a map, but I don’t know what she’s looking for.

Apparently, she’s found it because suddenly her hand is reaching for my face. For my scar. I force myself to hold still. 

“Can I?” Her voice is a whisper.

I swallow hard. No one ever touches my scar. Not even Mai. It’s like an unspoken rule. But I’ve exposed some of the scars inside of me to Katara. I might as well expose this one, this obvious mark of what I have been through, to her too.

I nod slowly.

She closes the distance and suddenly her hand is on my face. Her fingers delicately trace the border between scarred flesh and pale skin. The touch sends warm shivers through me. Her eyes follow her fingers, but mine are on her face. Her brow is slightly furrowed, and I can see the pain in her eyes. It’s empathy. She feels bad about what happened to me, even though it has nothing to do with her at all.

Slowly, carefully, her fingers move across my scar. The tissue is mostly dead, and I barely feel her caress. But I feel it enough to know that her touch has my heart thundering in my chest and my breath catching in my throat. 

Katara’s fingers drift toward my damaged ear and disappear into my hair, feeling where the scar tissue is hidden beneath it. She presses the palm of her hand against my cheek and instinctively, I lean into her touch and close my eyes for a brief moment. 

When I open my eyes, she’s watching me. 

She lets her hand fall away. It grazes my jaw, my neck, raising gooseflesh on my skin before she pulls it away. I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin. My nerves are livewires. 

“I’m sorry, Zuko,” she says. “With my mom...it wasn’t anyone’s fault. We hit a deer. It happens all the time out here. People will say,  _ hey man, I just hit a deer out on the 101! It was crazy. _ Heck, my dad hit a  _ bear  _ once. It just becomes almost a joke, you know? Because when nothing bad happens, it’s almost funny. Until something bad  _ does  _ happen. Then it’s not funny anymore.”

“It’s just something you never expect to happen to you,” I murmur. “You hear about death all the time. Car accidents, robberies gone wrong, stuff like that. But you never think anything like that will happen to you.” My throat is tight, and I can barely force the words out. “And you don’t expect someone you know to be at fault. It leaves this...this hole in you. My relationship with my father has never been great, but after my mom died...it’s like we’re strangers.”

Katara looks up at me for a moment. Then she wraps her arms around me and presses her face into my chest. I freeze, startled, but then I snake my arms around her and pull her closer. I can feel the way she’s shaking, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the cold. She’s warm and small beneath my hands, and I trace a soothing pattern on her back with one hand while I leave the other on her waist. Her hands are pressed into my shoulders with surprising strength, like maybe if she holds me tight enough we won’t fall apart. I blink back tears and press my scarred cheek into her hair and just hold her.

When Katara lifts her head, she brings her hand up to wipe away the tears that have escaped. She doesn’t step back from me, so we stand with just breathing room between us. I move my hands so they rest on her waist. It feels intimate, like we’re more than just friends, and it feels  _ right  _ when I know that it shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry.” She lets out a nervous little laugh and wipes at her eyes again. “It’s just been a really emotional day.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” I offer her a smile. 

Katara returns it, but then she steps back. I let my hands fall to my sides, and I suddenly feel chilled by her absence. 

“I should probably go home.” She doesn’t sound like she wants to. “Are you ready to go?”

I nod. I’m not, but I think we both know that if we stay here we might end up doing something we’ll both regret, and I don’t want that. This moment we just shared feels far more intimate than something between friends should, and the guilt gnaws at me. Didn’t I promise myself I wouldn’t put her in a position like this? 

We start back for the trail. This time, she doesn’t take my hand.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Hakoda grieve over Kya, and then Hakoda offers her some advice. Zuko gets a phone call from a friend that opens his eyes to the possibilities. Later, Jet finally arrives to kick off spring break, and Zuko has an unexpected visitor as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Mentions of death and grieving.

* * *

_ And scars are souvenirs you never lose. _

_ The past is never far. _

_ Did you lose yourself somewhere out there? _

_ Did you get to be a star? _

_ And don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are? _

**_\- "Name" by The Goo Goo Dolls_ **

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I close my bedroom door and press my back to it. My heart is a hummingbird in my ribcage. 

I just dropped Zuko off at the Jasmine Dragon and came home, and now that I’m here, the emotions of the day are rearing up and making themselves known. I close my eyes and behind my eyelids, I can still see Zuko’s smoldering eyes. I can feel his hands on my waist and my fingers on his scar as though we never parted.

What am I  _ thinking?  _ I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going through my head. My mind is a hurricane. 

The distance between us has narrowed again, in those shared touches by the sea, with the mist of the waterfall coating our skin like gossamer. If we come any closer, I think we might fuse. I’ll climb inside of him and settle in the space between his lungs.

I don’t know what is happening. Our shared trauma has brought us closer together. It has nudged our budding friendship along faster than before, like adding fuel to a fire. I find comfort in him. And I think, maybe, he finds comfort in me. 

This last week has been a whirlwind. I have spent hours in seclusion with Zuko, figuring him out and getting to know him, the smell of paint in the air as music plays softly from the speakers. Shared jokes and stories and smiles. 

Spirits, he’s so beautiful when he smiles. 

I find shelter in him, but I shouldn’t feel this way. My boyfriend will be here in less than two days. I should be finding shelter in  _ him _ . Maybe I need to put some distance back between Zuko and I, but just the thought makes my heart seize painfully.

A knock on my door startles me. I jump away from it before I open it. Dad is standing on the other side. His eyes are sober and red-rimmed, and for a moment I feel guilty that I’ve been out for most of the day. 

“You ran up here so quickly. I wanted to make sure everything is okay.” He studies me, and I wonder if he can see right through my skin and see the turmoil in my heart. “Are you alright?”

As he’s looking at me, I suddenly feel very small. I feel like I’m a child again, frightened, and I want nothing more than my father to wrap me in his strong arms and chase away all of my fears. 

The tears come, fast and strong, and I shake my head. 

“No, I’m not,” I sob.

And then Dad takes me in his arms and he holds me, and I am a child again. I bury my face in his shoulder and let out all my tears, all of my pain and sadness and hurt, while he pets my hair and whispers soothingly in my ear. 

When I pull away and look into his face, the hollows of his eyes are damp. He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me to my bed. I collapse onto it, spent and exhausted. He sits down beside me and rubs my shoulder soothingly. 

“It’s just been so hard, Dad,” I say through my hiccups. “With Mom, and now Toph and Aang. And Jet and Sokka are gone…”

“I know, snow pea. It’s been a rough year. You’ve been through a lot.”

I nod my head as I dry my cheeks on my sleeves. 

“I don’t know everything that happened between you and your friends, but I  _ am  _ sorry for it, Katara. It’s never easy to lose friends, especially ones you’ve known for so long.” Dad squeezes my shoulder. “But sometimes, people leave to make room for new ones.”

I look up at him with a slight frown. “Are you talking about Zuko?”

“I might be.” Dad shrugs, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “He seems alright by me.” He’s looking through me again. “Is that where you’ve been all day?”

I look away and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Well, I went and visited Mom, too. I called Sokka.” I shrug, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. “But yeah, that’s where I’ve been.”

“Yeah, I talked to Sokka a little bit earlier.” Dad swallows hard. “He said you called him when you were...at the cemetery.” 

As far as I know, Dad hasn’t been back to her grave, either. Maybe it’s too painful for him. I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, but if they do exist, it was Mom and Dad. I’ve never met anyone else who was so utterly in love.

“Yeah, he asked me to call him, since he couldn’t be here.”

Dad nods thoughtfully. He looks down at me. “Are you alright now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I let out a breath. “I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed early.”

Dad nods again. “Yeah, I think I’ll go to bed early myself.” He stands up slowly and heads for the door. He pauses there with his hand on the door frame. He looks at me. “Just think about what I said, okay?”

I know that he’s talking about Zuko. I nod. “Okay, Dad. I will.”

And he leaves me with even more to think about.

* * *

  
  


I wake up around midnight with a full bladder. I creep down the stairs, and find that Dad’s bedroom door is open. That’s strange. Dad’s door is always closed. 

The lights are off in the rest of the house, and, after relieving myself, I pad softly through the living room, through the laundry, and into the mud room. 

The floorboards are numbingly cold beneath my feet, but I find what I’m looking for: the door to the sanctuary is cracked. 

I push through it quietly so it doesn’t squeak. The single bulb is on, and it illuminates the small, closet-like space. The door into the sanctuary is open, and I hear Dad’s voice echoing through the room. 

I creep up to the doorway and peek through it. Dad is illuminated by one of Mom’s bright work lamps, sitting on the floor by Mom’s last painting, the one that she never finished. Ironically, it’s of a family of deer grazing in a meadow. I can see the bottle in his hand.

“Spirits, Kya, I hope I’m doing this right.” Despite the half-empty bottle, his words aren’t slurred. “I know the kids are grown up, but they still need me. Especially Katara. Our little girl has gone through so much. I try to help her, but sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. She’s going through a lot with her friends, and she’s still dating that guy. I want to talk to her about these things but sometimes I just don’t know how to. It was always easier with Sokka.” He sighs heavily. “I wish you were here. You were always so good with her You’d know what to do.” 

I feel like an intruder, and I back away silently, back through the mudroom and into the house. I don’t stop until I’m back in bed. I think I might cry again, but I don’t.

But my heart is pulling painfully in my chest, and I don’t fall back asleep for a long while.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

I watch Katara drive off. When she turns down the road and out of my sight, I start up the stairs to the loft. I pause on the landing and rest my hands on the railing. The metal is smooth and cool beneath my hands, and it helps temper the fever running through me.

I keep replaying that moment over in my head. I’m not one for sappy romantic notions, but when she touched my scar, it was like the planets aligned. 

The scar is a touchy subject. One, because of how I got it. For two, because of what it means. And three, because my self-esteem definitely took a hit from it. 

I used to like the way I look. But with this scar marring nearly half of my face, I  _ know  _ I’m not easy on the eyes. Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed with Mai for so long. She was there before, and she’s been there for after, too. She’s never really looked at me any differently because of it. But she never dared to touch it.

But when Katara looks at me, when she looks at my scar, she doesn’t see some ugly thing. She sees a testament to my strength. 

The sun is starting to set over the ocean, and I decide to stay outside and watch it. The clouds have thinned and I’m beginning to think that it isn’t going to rain after all. The sun peeks through the breaks in the clouds, casting a golden glow on this sleepy little town. The undersides of the clouds are streaked with orange and pink, and it’s peaceful. 

At least, it’s peaceful until my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket.

I pull it out and check the caller ID. I pull a sour face when I see Ty Lee is FaceTiming me. I’m not sure when my sister’s friends became  _ my  _ friends, but sometimes I can do without it. But maybe it’s important, so I answer it.

Ty Lee’s cheerful face fills the screen, and when she sees me, she lights up in a smile. “Hi, Zuko!”

“What’s up, Ty Lee?”

She twirls the end of her braid around her finger. “Oh, not a whole lot. I just thought I’d call and see what’s up with you.” She peers at me through the phone screen, frowning a bit. “Are you okay?”

I frown. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Because your aura...I can tell even through the phone that something is different about it.” She cocks her head to the side, scrunching her eyes. “You’re yellowy-orange.”

It’s probably just the sunset, but I humor her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re…” She purses her lips as she tries to describe it. I’ve never understood auras, and she always tries to explain it to me in a way that I’ll understand. “It means you’re confused about something.”

I don’t usually believe Ty Lee’s mumbo jumbo about this kind of stuff, but it’s a little uncanny how accurate she is sometimes. I can’t let her know that though. The last thing I need is her running off to tell my sister or Mai.

I play it off. “Confused about what?”

“Your aura doesn’t tell me  _ that _ , silly!” Ty Lee laughs. “ _ You  _ have to figure that out.” 

I roll my eyes. “Thanks. It’s nice to know I’m confused about something.” Like I didn’t already know I’m confused about my feelings for Katara. 

“Sorry.” Ty Lee shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out though.”

_ Yeah, I’ll get right on that,  _ I think. I clear my throat. “So, why were you calling?”

She smiles brightly. “I told you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. How’s the coast?”

I narrow my eyes at her. Ty Lee doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body. I doubt my sister or Mai has put her up to calling me, but I can never be too careful. 

“It’s fine. Cold and rainy, just like Seattle,” I hedge.

“Yeah, but you’re right there on the beach!” Ty Lee chirps. “That has to be amazing. You can go down to the water whenever you want.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. How can people who claim to be my friends not know that I hate the beach?

“Yeah, I guess that’s nice.” 

Ty Lee beams at me. “How’s Uncle Iroh doing?”

“He’s fine. Enjoying his retirement.” The words are bitter on my tongue, like black coffee. Because we all know that this retirement isn’t exactly voluntary. He followed me into exile. “He’s decided to open a tea shop.”

Ty Lee is oblivious. “Oh, how exciting! We’ll have to come down when you guys open!” 

I don’t need to ask who  _ we  _ is. She obviously means herself, Azula, and Mai. I don’t think I want Mai to come down. I doubt she will anyway.

But it occurs to me that I can ask Ty Lee about Mai while I have her on the phone. She will tell me the truth no matter what, unlike my sister, who will tell me if it’s convenient for her. 

“Yeah,” I say. “But I don’t think Mai will want to come down. She’s still pretty upset with me.”

“Well…” Ty Lee shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be good for both of you. Cathartic. You guys can finally figure things out.”

“Maybe.”

Ty Lee cocks her head again. “Is that what you’re confused about? You’re confused about Mai?”

I narrow my eyes again. I wonder if Azula told her about our conversation. 

Ty Lee presses on. “I mean, it’s okay to be confused. You guys have had this on-again, off-again thing for like, five years. And don’t get me wrong, I love you both to bits, but that’s a little toxic and it really murks up both of your auras.” I arch my eyebrow, and she looks a little sheepish. “I’ve never said anything about it because you guys seemed okay with what you had going on, but maybe this...this separation is good for both of you. You guys can get some clarity.”

“Do you really think that?” I ask her. 

I think about my conversation with Azula. She wants me and Mai to make up so Mai quits being a problem for  _ her _ . But Ty Lee is offering me something that benefits Mai and I and no one else. It’s exactly what Uncle has been telling me for weeks.

“Yeah, I do.” Ty Lee smiles. “You have this whole new opportunity to make something good, Zuko. Without the weight of anyone’s expectations. I know this has been super hard. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. But…”

She trails off, and I see her face pinch like she isn’t sure she should say what she’s thinking. But her words have my heart thrumming in my chest and hope is welling up inside of me. When Uncle offers his advice, I think he’s just looking out for me, which is good. But when Ty Lee tells me the honest truth, I know she means it and she’s probably right. 

“But?” I prompt. 

Ty Lee takes a breath. “Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is your chance to start over and  _ not  _ have to cater to your dad. You can finally be yourself.”

Her words echo in my brain long after we disconnect the call. I go to bed feeling better than I have in a long time. All this time I’ve been so  _ angry.  _ So angry with my father, and at myself. I’ve been looking at this exile like a punishment, because that’s what my father intended it to be.

But when I think of Katara, with her ocean eyes and vanilla-and-cherry-blossoms scent, how she accepts me and doesn’t recoil from my scar, I know that Ty Lee is right.

Here, in this tiny town on the coast, I can be me.

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

I hear the sound of tires crunching on gravel and an excited grin splits my face. I launch myself off of the couch and run to the front door, throwing it out of my way and leaving it ajar in my rush to get outside.

Jet’s black Mazda is sitting by my Jetta, and Jet is just stepping out of it. I sprint down the stairs and throw my arms around Jet’s neck before he’s even shut the car door. He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off my feet. 

When I pull back, he captures my lips in a fierce kiss. It tastes like longing and desire. 

While his lips are on mine, I can almost forget the chasm that is growing between us. I can almost forget Zuko and our moment by the waterfall two days ago. 

Almost.

Finally, Jet sets me back on the ground. He keeps one hand on the small of my back as we walk toward the house. Momo greets us, and Jet takes a moment to scratch behind his ears before we settle onto the couch.

“How was the drive?” I ask as I interlock our fingers.

“Traffic was a nightmare until I got on the 101.” Jet rolls his eyes, his lips turning up in a lopsided smirk. “Springbreakers, I swear.”

I chuckle. “Well, you’re here and that’s all that matters.”

His fingers follow the length of my thigh and rest on my hip. His eyes are hungry. “So, your dad’s at work?”

A hot pulse twitches between my legs. It’s been a while since we’ve been together. “Yeah. He won’t be home until this evening.”

Jet closes the distance between us, maneuvering between my legs. He presses a kiss to the corner of my jaw. 

“And your brother?”

When his teeth graze my earlobe, my breath hitches in my throat. 

“He won’t be here for a few hours.”

“Mmm...so we’ve got the house to ourselves.” He suckles the skin over my pulse. “What will we ever do to keep ourselves entertained?”

I knot my fingers in his flannel shirt. I try to keep my voice controlled, and somehow it’s easier than I think it will be. 

“I don’t know...got any ideas?”

“I’ve got a few.” 

Jet scoops me up into his arms and stands up. He carries me up the stairs and to my bedroom, where we manage to keep ourselves entertained for a while.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

When I open my bedroom door and step out into the living room, the last person I expect to see sitting at the dining table with Uncle is my best friend. 

“Rhett?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and blink at him. “What are you doing here?”

Rhett cracks a grin and gets up to bump my shoulder in greeting. “What do you think I’m doing here? I came down to see you.”

“Yeah, but why?” I look past him to Uncle, who just shrugs his shoulders. I glance at the clock. “And at  _ six in the morning? _ ”

“What can I say? I missed your face.” Rhett jostles me again. “Really, I just wanted to get out of the city and see what country living is like.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“Rhett and I were just enjoying some tea, nephew,” Iroh says, spreading his hands over the table. “Why don’t you come join us?”

I do, mostly because I’m curious about why Rhett is  _ really  _ here. We’ve talked since I’ve been gone, but I’m surprised that he’s here. And since he runs in the same circles I used to, circles that Azula still runs in, I’m a little leery, even if he  _ is _ my best friend.

We catch up for a while. Uncle tells him about our progress with the coffee shop, and he regales us with tales from college and the social elite of Seattle. 

Everything is going fine until Uncle mentions Katara.

Rhett turns to me, his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, and a grin splits his face. He draws her name out with a roguish curiosity. “ _ Ka-tar-a _ , huh? Who’s she?”

I scowl at him. “She’s a friend.” 

“Is she a friend, or is she a  _ friend? _ ” He waggles his eyebrows at me devilishly. 

Heat rises in my cheeks and I glare at my uncle, cursing him mentally for mentioning her.

“She’s a friend,” I grit out. “ _ Just _ a friend.”

Rhett nods his head in a knowing way, still smirking wolfishly. “Is she pretty?”

“ _ Very  _ pretty,” Uncle supplies with a cheeky smile before I can say anything. 

Rhett grins crookedly. “Hm, I think I’d like to meet her.”

I feel like I’m being tag-teamed, and I don’t appreciate it.

“Good luck with that. Her boyfriend is coming back from college today.” Even I can hear the bitterness in my tone.

“Ohhhh, I get it. You’ve got the hots for someone you can’t have.” He sucks his teeth as if in disappointment.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t have the  _ hots  _ for her.”

“Uh-huh.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers and exhale hotly. 

Rhett leans back in his seat, apparently satisfied with himself. “Alright, I’m starving. What is there to eat in this town?”

“You haven’t tried Tiffanie’s yet, nephew,” Iroh says. He pats his rotund stomach. “I went earlier this week, while Zuko was busy with Katara—” Rhett shoots me a pointed look. “—and it’s quite delicious. I recommend the omelettes.”

I recognize the name from Katara’s Facebook. She and her friends seem to eat there a lot.

I rake my hand down my face before I look at Rhett. “Do you want to go?”

“Sure, man.”

I sigh and stand up. “Alright. Just let me throw some clothes on.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up outside of a diner called Tiffanie’s. Rhett insisted on driving, and I feel more than a little ostentatious riding in his red Camaro. I’m sure that’s why he did it, too. He’s the son of a lucrative hedge fund manager, and he’s never been afraid of throwing his wealth around. 

He parks the car and we go inside. A waitress shows us to a booth and leaves us with two menus and ice water.

Rhett casts a look around. “Well, this is definitely a far cry from Seattle.”

I snort. “You’re telling me.”

“How are you liking the small-town life? These hillbillies making you miss the city?”

I pull a face. I know it’s a common stereotype for people from the city to believe, and I used to think the same, but it’s not like that here at all.

“No, actually,” I answer. “I like it here. It’s quiet.”

Rhett studies me for a moment. He takes a breath. “Alright, man. I gotta be honest. Mai asked me to come down here.”

“ _ Mai? _ ” I can’t help the look of surprise that creases my face. 

“Yeah. She wanted to know if you were happy here.”

I bark out a laugh. Oh man, this is rich. “So, she can’t text me back but she’ll send my best friend down here to check on me? That’s great.”

“Hey man, she might be upset, but she still cares about your stupid ass.” Rhett spreads his hands. “I can’t imagine why, though.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel  _ so  _ much better.”

Rhett shrugs. “What can I say? She’s hurt.”

“Yeah? Well, it's not like I had a choice, Rhett,” I say hotly. “My father was determined to make my life miserable. I had two options: stick around and let my father destroy what’s left of my life, or let my uncle bring me down here.” I scowl down at the table. “You know how it was.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s why I’m not mad. But you know how girls are.” I look up at him, and he shrugs again. “They’re crazy.”

I huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh. He’s got that right. 

“So really, man.” Rhett leans across the table toward me, studying me. “Are you happy?”

I look out the window. My thoughts drift back to Katara and the moment we shared on Friday. How it felt to hold her, to have her hand on my scar. I think about her boyfriend with his charming smile. I think about yesterday, just Katara and I in the tea shop, painting and talking about our mothers. I haven’t talked about her that much in years. It was nice.

“I think so,” I say at last.

Rhett nods as if I’ve just confirmed something. “Does that Katara girl have anything to do with it?”

“She’s got everything to do with it,” I say honestly.

“Sucks she has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you've read Play With Fire, you'll probably recognize Rhett as Zuko's friend from that fic too. And that's because I hate that Zuko didn't have any friends of his own in the show, and while I stan his friendships with Mai and Ty Lee, I feel like he deserves a good bromance outside of Sokka. So, I present to you: Rhett, who will probably be Zuko's OC bff in all my fics when necessary. And, tbh, I wrote Rhett into this story before I wrote him into PWF so xD.
> 
> Updates will probably be less infrequent as I focus on my Zutara Big Bang project, and Zutara month is coming up as well. Expect the next update around March 3rd.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka comes home with an unexpected guest, and everyone goes out to dinner at Nan's to catch up. Rhett talks Zuko into going out to the bar, where they run into Katara with her boyfriend. With Rhett's help, Zuko finally places Jet, and things suddenly take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: implied/referenced sexual assault, mentions of past substance use.

* * *

_Maybe I, maybe I'm just being blinded_

_By the brighter side_

_Of what we had because it's over._

_Well, it must be something in the tide._

_- **"Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi**_

* * *

_**Katara** _

* * *

Jet and I are curled up on the couch when I hear Sokka’s car crunch on the gravel. I bolt upright and hurry for the door with Jet tagging along behind me. But I stop in my tracks when I see that Sokka is not alone.

A pretty girl with chestnut hair that falls to her jaw is climbing out of the passenger side, her eyes combing over the church before they fall on me. Her face splits into a friendly grin.

“Hi! You must be Katara!”

I regain the ability to move and I walk down to where she and Sokka are coming around the hood of the car. My brother slides his arm around her waist.

_ Whoa,  _ I think.  _ When did this happen?  _

“This is Suki. She’s my girlfriend,” Sokka says. He’s smiling, and I can tell how happy he is. “Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. It was sort of last-minute.”

“My break plans fell through,” Suki explains with a sheepish smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Katara. Sokka talks about you all the time.” She lets out a little laugh. “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in.”

I smile back at her. “No, that’s fine.” I look pointedly at my brother. “But texting  _ is  _ a thing, you know.”

Sokka rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

I loop my arm around Jet. “This is my boyfriend, Jet. He’s here for break, too.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Suki says. She seems sweet, and I like her already.

“Dad isn’t home?” Sokka looks around for Dad’s truck.

“No, he had a last-minute boat repair. Some rich guy just couldn’t  _ wait _ until tomorrow to have his carburetor replaced. Offered to pay him double.” I roll my eyes. “He should be home in time for dinner, though.” 

“Well, let’s get our stuff inside and we can catch up.” Sokka smiles at Suki, and the look is pure adoration. 

Sokka and Suki move toward the trunk. Jet and I linger by the hood.

“So your brother’s girlfriend can stay with you guys but I can’t?” Jet arches his brow at me. “What’s up with that?”

I can’t quite look him in the eye as I shrug my shoulders. I know why Jet can’t stay. But that doesn’t mean I should tell him. Dad has a (sort of) strict  _ no boys _ rule. And truthfully, I’m almost grateful for Dad’s rule, which has always seemed arbitrary since I’m an adult and a little hypocritical since he’s let Aang stay the night. Because this way, Jet has to go back to his uncle’s house at the end of the day, and I can sit with myself in seclusion as I try to sort out my feelings.

Jet helps Sokka grab their bags and take them upstairs when we go inside. I give Suki the grand tour while they do.

“This is the living room. The bathroom is over here. That’s Dad’s room…” I point up the steps. “Mine and Sokka’s bedrooms are up there. Sokka’s is the first door.” I lead her into the kitchen. “Kitchen, obviously. The pantry is right here. That’s where the washer and dry are too. There’s the mudroom, but you probably won’t need it.” 

She points to the door that leads to the sanctuary. “What’s through there?”

I follow her finger. I swallow hard. “That’s the sanctuary. It was our mom’s studio.” 

I’m assuming she knows what happened, and given the sympathetic look on her face, it’s safe to say my assumption is correct. 

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Suki says gently. She touches my shoulder. “I lost my parents when I was young. My mom had an aneurysm, and my dad got cancer a few years after that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Suki tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did Sokka tell you how we met?”

I shake my head. I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend until ten minutes ago. “Um, no.”

“We met through a parent loss support group.” Suki chuckles. “It’s not exactly a place you expect to find love, but here we are.” 

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Since right before Thanksgiving.” I’m shocked. I’m sure it’s clear on my face, because Suki laughs a little. “We’ve kept it on the downlow. We just wanted it to be us for a little while.”

“I get it.” 

I lead her back into the living room as the boys come back down the stairs. 

Jet and Sokka get along pretty well. Jet was actually Sokka’s friend before he was my boyfriend, but they aren’t as close as they used to be. I think Sokka takes his big-brother-the-protector role a little too seriously. They haven’t  _ really  _ been friends since Jet and I started dating.

We settle on the furniture. Sokka and Suki curl up on the couch, and Jet drapes my legs across his lap on the loveseat. For a while we just catch up. The boys and Suki talk about their classes and college parties they’ve been to. I fill Jet and Sokka in on all of the things they’ve missed for the last few months, which isn’t much.

I don’t mention Zuko.

But as I sit there, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. Are him and Iroh finishing up the kitchen? Or is Zuko taking the day off, waiting for me to come back? If he isn’t painting, what’s he doing? Is he helping Iroh with a puzzle? Maybe he’s taken a walk down to the beach. Maybe he’ll go on a run—he told me he likes to do that. 

I wonder if he misses my presence as much as I’m missing his.

We hear the roar of Dad’s truck just after five o’clock. Sokka and Suki exchange a look and he gives her hand a squeeze. Jet looks over at me and I give him a confident smile that I don’t quite feel. Nothing has changed since Christmas. Dad still doesn’t like him. In fact, he probably likes him even  _ less  _ now that he’s met Zuko. 

Dad’s heavy boots fall on the stairs and a moment later the front door opens. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt that are covered in grease, and he looks a little frazzled. But he lights up with a grin when he sees Sokka. Then his eyes fall on the girl beside my brother.

“And who is this?” Dad asks as he shuts the door behind him. 

Sokka and Suki stand up. “Dad, this is my girlfriend, Suki. I hope you don’t mind but she’s gonna stay for break.”

“I hope I’m not imposing,” Suki adds politely.

Dad appraises the two of them. Then he smiles. “No, you’re not imposing. It’s nice to meet you, Suki.” Dad holds up his oily hands. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little greasy.”

Suki chuckles. “No worries!”

Dad looks at me and Jet, and all traces of humor falls away. He nods curtly. “Jet. How are you?”

“I’m fine, sir. Thanks for asking.” Jet presses his lips together. 

Dad checks his watch before he looks up at us. “Well, it looks like dinner time. What do you say we go to Nan’s?”

Sokka grins. “Oh man, that sounds great! I’ve been craving their shepherd’s pie. And the beer.” He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Muah! Magnifico! They’ve got the  _ best  _ beer.” He looks at Suki. “You’ve got to try it.”

“Okay.” Suki laughs. 

Dad claps his hands together. “Let me just go get cleaned up real quick and then we can head out, alright?”

A half hour later Jet and I are climbing into the truck beside Dad while Sokka and Suki get in the Mustang. I’m sandwiched in the middle between Dad and Jet, and the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife. It’s a quiet ride, at least. 

We get to Nan’s and go inside. Sela embraces Sokka and Jet like they’re her own sons. But then again, she’s known them their whole lives. 

Behind my boyfriend’s back, she raises a brow at me, and a blush rises in my cheeks.  _ Can’t a guy and a girl just be friends?  _ I think bitterly. Then we all sit down at a table and Sela brings us the menu. 

“It’s good to see you boys,” Sela tells Jet and Sokka. She glances over at Suki. “And who’s this pretty lady, Sokka?”

“This is Suki. We go to school together.” Sokka beams happily. 

Sela leaves us to decide on what to eat.

“So Suki, what do you study?” Dad asks while we peruse the menu. 

“I’m going for my bachelor’s in physical education,” Suki replies. “I do a lot of MMA. My parents own a dojo.” Her adoptive parents, of course. “I want to teach it to others.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Dad says. He grins. “Are you whipping Sokka into shape?”

“Hey, I’m in  _ peak  _ physical condition!” Sokka protests.

Suki pokes his stomach. “Yeah,  _ now.  _ When I first found you, you were the Pillsbury Dough Boy.” We laugh and Sokka scowls at us. Suki looks at Jet. “What about you, Jet? Sokka told me you study at U of O.”

“I’m studying music,” Jet replies with a smirk. 

“Do you still have your band?” Dad inquires. I know he’s never cared for Jet’s chosen career path, and I can hear it in his tone.

Jet nods. “Yeah. We’ve played a few shows at Matthew Knight Arena. We opened for Machine Gun Kelly back in September.” 

Dad knows this; Sokka and I went to the concert. But he says it for Suki’s benefit, and I can see that she looks impressed. A little bubble of pride wells up in me. 

Soon we order our food. Everyone but me gets a house beer. I’m not complaining. I’ve never cared for the taste of beer. But the whiskey is good. 

For the next few hours we eat and talk. The conversation stays light, and Dad gets to embarrass Sokka with some childhood stories that have us all busting up laughing. But while we sit at our table, my eyes keep darting to the corner booth I shared with Zuko just a few weeks ago. 

We’ve just asked for to-go boxes when I hear footsteps on the stairs that lead up to the pub. I don’t pay attention at first, but then I hear that voice, the one that sounds like autumn leaves crunching underfoot.

Zuko and I see each other at the same time. He’s with a guy I don’t recognize, and I can tell from the flush in his cheeks that he’s been drinking. His eyes comb over me and quickly register my dad, brother, Suki, and finally Jet. Something passes over his face, too quickly for me to register what it is.

But apparently we’ve been looking at each other for too long, because Dad follows my line of sight and sees Zuko too.

He lifts one hand in a wave. “Hey, Zuko!”

He looks at my dad and nods in response. Then his eyes land on me. 

And now we’ve reached an impasse. Would it be weird if he doesn’t come and say hello? Or will it be awkward if he does? 

I can feel Jet’s eyes on me.

His friend nudges him and says something, too low for the rest of us to hear. They exchange words, and then the question is answered as Zuko and his friend come toward our table.

* * *

_**Zuko** _

* * *

I tip back the shot of vodka and feel its cold burn down my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut as a shiver runs through me before I open my eyes. I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I’m scowling.

I can’t believe that I let Rhett talk me into this. Nothing good ever happens when we drink together. 

But after a boring day cooped up in the loft watching bad TV and watching Uncle work on his puzzle, Rhett and I were both itching to do something. Rhett’s first suggestion was the bar, and even though I was leery, I went along with it.

Now we’re here at Nan’s throwing back shots of vodka and nearly drunk. It’s not even eight o’clock. 

“Take another shot, man.” Rhett’s voice is too loud in my ear. 

I wave him off. “Nah, I think I’m good. We’re what, eight shots in?”

“Seven. Are you quitting on me?”

“Yeah, I think I am. Don’t forget,  _ I  _ have work to do tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t get a spring break like I do.”

He’s just joking, but it still rubs me the wrong way. That’s how Rhett is: he doesn’t think before he opens his mouth. He doesn’t know the definition of a touchy subject, and my sudden departure from college is definitely one of them.

I slide off my stool. “I gotta take a piss.”

I make my way toward the bathroom. The pub isn’t too busy, but there’s a crowd of old men watching a sports game on the TV. There’s a few other younger people like Rhett and myself, but I would bet that most people our age head out of town to drink. 

When I get into the bathroom I go to the sink and splash cold water over my face. My head is buzzing pleasantly and my stomach is warm with the vodka burn. 

I should be having a good time. This is what I used to do all the time in Seattle. After a long week of classes, there was no better way to unwind than by hitting the club and getting sloshed. It was always me, Azula, Mai, Ty Lee, and Rhett. We’d take shots and play quarters and the girls would dance while Rhett and I hung back before they’d come drag us onto the floor with them. We’d meet new people and maybe do a line of coke or take ecstasy. By the end of the night Mai and I would pour ourselves into an Uber before we’d go back to her place and bang ourselves into oblivion. 

But I’m not having a good time. It’s stupid and vapid and it’s just not me anymore. 

And it doesn’t help that Rhett has been grilling me about Katara on and off all day. Part of me thinks Uncle put him up to it. He pestered me relentlessly until I pulled up her Facebook profile and shoved my phone in his face. 

To which he’d looked up at me and said, “Damn, I can see why you like her. She’s hot.”

“It’s more than that,” I’d snapped. 

“I’m sure it is. But man, does it blow this girl’s got a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“What the hell do you mean? There’s nothing I  _ can  _ do.” 

“You’re right. And that sucks because man, do you have it  _ bad. _ ”

He’s not wrong.

And now we’re here at Nan’s, and all I’m thinking about is her ocean eyes and her hesitancy. Katara in my hoodie. Walking her home and thinking that if she didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d really like to kiss her goodnight. 

I rake my hands through my hair and push out of the bathroom. Rhett is taking another shot by the time I get back to him. He looks up at me.

“Uh oh,” he says. “Someone’s up in his feelings.”

I gnash my teeth together and resist the urge to slam his head into the bar counter. 

“ _ No.  _ I’m not. Can we just go?”

“You definitely are. And you’re also lame. But fine.” 

Rhett stands up, swaying slightly, and reaches for his wallet. He drops a $100 bill on the counter—easily double our tab—and starts for the stairs. 

When Rhett and I reach the top of the steps, I can’t help but wonder who’s bright idea it was to put a bar on the second floor. And then I wonder how many people have fallen down them. I hope me or Rhett aren’t one of them. 

It’s only when I safely reach the bottom step that I look up and see her. She is a light and I’m a moth, and it’s like I’m just drawn to her. 

I’m in the middle of saying something to Rhett, but now I don’t even remember what it is. All I see is Katara. And then I register the people she’s with. Her father. Her brother. Some girl I don’t recognize. And him. Her boyfriend.

Katara’s eyes lock with mine. I can see the guilt written on her face and I think,  _ what do you have to be guilty about? We haven’t  _ done  _ anything.  _ But then I think she might feel guilty about me seeing her with her boyfriend, and I don’t like the taste that leaves in my mouth.

Hakoda sees me next. He smiles and waves. “Hey, Zuko!” 

I’m frozen. It’s like the time has slowed down, and the world around me is moving through wet cement. I feel myself nod back in response.

Now I’m facing a dilemma. Do I go and say hi, or head for the door? I don’t exactly want to meet her boyfriend and her brother while I’m drunk. But I think that it would be weird if I don’t go say hello.

Rhett digs his elbow into my side. He lets out a low whistle. “Man, she’s even hotter in person. That’s her, right?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard.

“And the punk next to her is her boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Grow a pair and go say hi.”

He gives me a nudge, and suddenly my feet are carrying me toward Katara’s table. She’s smiling at me, but I can see the tightness in the corners of her lips. I feel like an interloper. I shouldn’t be here. 

Hakoda speaks first, and I’m a little grateful for it. “Fancy meeting you here, Zuko. What are you up to?”

Rhett has followed me over to the table. He answers for me. 

“He’s just showing me around town. Aren’t you, Zuko?” He flashes a grin at Katara. “I’m Rhett.”

Katara looks between the two of us and seems to find her voice. “You’re from Seattle?”

“That’s right. Me and Zuko go way back. It’s great to meet you.” 

I hope he doesn’t say anything else. If he does, I’ll surely die from the mortification. 

I catch her boyfriend staring at me. I can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. He doesn’t like me already. Great. 

Katara seems to realize that she should introduce us. She looks at her boyfriend and gestures at me. 

“Jet, this is my friend, Zuko.” Her eyes fall on me. “Zuko, this is my boyfriend.”

Jet stands up and extends his hand to me. I reach in front of Katara and Hakoda to shake it. His grip is bruising, and I know he’s trying to assert dominance. It’s stupid male stuff, but I have to play along. I think it’s the strongest handshake I’ve ever given. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he tells me in a way that lets me know it’s definitely  _ not  _ nice to meet me. 

“Yeah, same.” I level him with a stare. I’m drunk and suddenly feeling bold, and I can’t stop the words that come out of me next. “Katara’s told me a lot about you.”

It’s not exactly the truth. Katara seems to avoid talking to me about Jet, and I’ve been trying to figure out why all week. But she  _ has _ mentioned him, so it’s not really a lie either.

Katara looks between the two of us. “I’ve been helping Zuko and his uncle.”

Jet doesn’t take his eyes off me. It’s clear that he thinks I’m a threat. “Ah.” 

His eyes land on my scar, and his lips twitch into a smirk that makes my blood boil.

After we let go, we stare at each other for a beat. He looks  _ so  _ familiar but I still can’t place him. It’s driving me nuts. It’s a niggling feeling in the back of my mind. Then Katara clears her throat, and I look down at her.

She gestured to her brother and the girl sitting beside him. “Um, Zuko, this is my brother, Sokka, and his girlfriend, Suki.” 

Her brother stands up and shakes my hand. He’s got an easy-going grin and seems to be the only person at the table who isn’t affected by the tension. I can see the disapproving look Hakoda is giving Jet out of the corner of my eye. 

“So you’re a friend of Katara’s?” Sokka asks as he sits down. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Cool, cool.” Sokka nods his head. 

“Yeah, Zuko and his uncle just moved here,” Rhett supplies. I’m pretty sure Hakoda is the only one who notices me step on Rhett’s foot. Rhett ignores me. “They’re opening a tea shop. Katara’s been helping Zuko with the painting.”

Sokka’s eyes land on me. “The Jasmine Dragon?” I nod, wishing the floor would swallow me up. “Oh hey, Katara invited me to like the Facebook page. It looks pretty cool.”

“Thanks, man.” This is awkward. 

“When are you guys gonna open?” Sokka asks. 

“April 4th.”

“Man, I’ll be back in college by then.” I’m surprised to find that he actually sounds a little disappointed. “I’ll have to stop in when I’m back for summer break.”

I nod my head. “Sure thing.”

Hakoda looks up at me. “Still coming to the barbecue?”

I smile tightly. Katara’s boyfriend is glaring daggers at me. “Uh, yeah. That’s the plan.” I step back from the table. “We should probably be going. Rhett’s got a long drive home tomorrow—”

“Yeah, Seattle’s pretty far,” Rhett cuts in. “But it was great to see all of you!”

Then he practically drags me out of Nan’s and onto the sidewalk. 

I pull up short. “Dude, what’s  _ wrong  _ with you?”

Rhett is looking at me with wide eyes. He backhands my arm, hard, and I wince. “Bro, you didn’t see it?”

My irritation is mounting. “See  _ what? _ ”

“Her boyfriend—you don’t recognize him?”

I frown. I  _ do  _ recognize him. He has looked familiar since I came across his picture on her Facebook profile. I just haven’t been able to place him.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “But I don’t remember where.”

Rhett shakes his head. “Dude. Winter break. Chan’s party?”

As Rhett says the words, I suddenly place him. I can remember that party. Azula had called me in the middle of the night. I could tell something was wrong even though she was acting like she just had too much to drink and wanted a ride home. I’d driven over—this was before my father had taken my Challenger—and I’d had to go inside to find her. It hadn’t been hard. She was screaming at some jerk, something about him feeling her up—

It was Jet.

I swear under my breath. 

“It’s him, right?” Rhett asks me. 

I nod my head. “Yeah, it’s him.”

Rhett lets out a breath. “Damn, dude. What are you gonna do?”

I suddenly feel cold. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The big "oh crud" moment for Zuko realizing why Jet looks so familiar. When I first got the idea to write this story, I really didn't mean to make Jet this much of a bad guy. And I swear, I'll eventually write a story where he isn't the bad guy. But for this, it just had to happen to drive the plot where I needed it to go. 
> 
> Now, with the Zutara Month prompts officially up, I'll be hard at work cooking up ideas for those as well as continuing to work on Zutara Big Bang. And I'll be regularly posting new chapters for my multi-chapter novella, "Black Bird in A Blizzard", so be sure to check that out. It has a similar vibe to this story, so if you're enjoying this, you'll probably like that one too :)
> 
> Expect the next update around March 24.


End file.
